


Je ne te comprends pas

by Mertens



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: AU, Christine is Forward, Erik Is Oblivious, Erik is teaching Christine French, F/M, Idiots in Love, Language Barrier, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertens/pseuds/Mertens
Summary: Christine Daaé arrives in France knowing very little French - but she knows what she’s feeling for her new music tutor. If only he could understand what’s she’s trying to say...
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 47
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 30th work for PotO! <3 really pleased to be able to share this one, and hopefully many more ~

It was the only logical place for Christine to go. She hadn’t seen Meg in years, not after the Giry’s had moved from Sweden to France, but she was the closest thing Christine had left to family after Mamma Valerius and the Professor died. Sweden held too many bittersweet memories for her after that, so three weeks before her twentieth birthday she bought her ticket for Paris. She knew very little French, but she knew that she needed a change of scenery. 

The trip was slightly difficult due to the language barrier - few people spoke Swedish, and while she knew some Italian and German as well, she was limited in vocabulary to what she had learned for the chorus of the operas she had been in. She could speak of soldiers and cigarette girls, but that helped very little when trying to ask when the train would arrive. 

Despite the frustration of not being understood, the move had its benefits - Meg had assured her that there would be a place for her in the chorus of the Paris Opera, no audition required. She would also be allowed to stay at the opera house itself, apparently free of charge. She had questioned Meg on this, but Meg had only laughed it off. 

Meg was there waiting for her at the platform when she arrived. 

“Oh, Christine! I’ve missed you!” she hugged her tight, and a few tears rolled down Christine’s cheeks. 

“I’ve missed you too! And I’ve missed hearing Swedish,” she laughed a little. 

Meg laughed at this too. While her mother was French, her father had been Swedish, and as such she’d grown up speaking both languages. 

“I’ll help you with your French!” she promised her, squeezing her hands. “Now come on - let’s get you to the opera house! You can meet your new teacher once you’re there!”

The opera house was beautiful. Christine took it in with awe, amazed that this might be her new home. 

She had to stop frequently, but not just to gaze at the lovely marble and gold - her luggage was too heavy despite Meg helping her carry it. There was still a long ways to go. 

Meg hesitated. 

“Christine,” she said quietly, though there was no one else around to hear them or even understand what they were saying. “Can you promise to keep a secret?”

She nodded solemnly. 

“Oh, of course!”

Meg showed her a secret door in the wall, then ushered her through. 

“Only Maman and I know about this,” she told her in a whisper as they walked through the secret tunnel. “Maman and me and- well, pretty much only us.”

Although the tunnel kept going far past a corner and out of sight, their trip in it ended when Meg stopped at a doorway and pushed the door open. Once open, Christine could hear voices talking in French inside, though she couldn’t yet see who was there. 

“Maman,” Meg announced as she walked through the door and into Madame Giry’s office. “Christine is here!”

She reached back and tugged her forwards to step into the office. 

Christine smiled at Madame Giry, about to greet her. She had only the briefest of seconds to wonder why her friends mother was looking at her as though she were a portent of doom when suddenly she became aware that there was a man in the corner of the room - a man who immediately drew her attention when he threw the drinking glass that had been in his hand onto the floor where it shattered with a noise that made Christine flinch. 

“ _Marguerite Giry, what the devil have you done?_ ” he shouted at her. 

Christine squeezed Meg’s arm, frowning hard at this horrible man. How dare he yell at her like that! 

But Meg was unfazed. 

“Christine can keep a secret,” she retorted, jutting her chin out. “Besides, she ought to know. And it’s not like she can tell anyone your secrets - she barely even speaks French!”

The man ran a hand through his dark hair, glowering at her. Christine suppressed a shiver, not wanting to show any weakness, but she was unnerved by the white mask that covered half his face and the brooding aura about him. 

“This is the girl I was telling you about, Erik,” Madame Giry explained. “You already said you’d give her lessons, she obviously has to be in the same room with you to do that.”

Erik ground his teeth as he looked away. He _had_ promised he would give singing lessons to a foreign friend of Meg’s, and to get her a position in the chorus - a favor to Giry since he had crashed the chandelier after she had repeatedly asked him not to. He just hadn’t expected the girl would be shown her way through his secret tunnels and ambush him without him being told about it beforehand. 

“Erik is a little moody,” Meg whispered to Christine in Swedish. “But he’s not _that_ bad...”

Christine wasn’t convinced. She tried to school her face into a neutral expression even as he narrowed his eyes at the two girls and their secret conversation. 

“When do we get to meet my teacher?” Christine whispered in Swedish and fidgeted.

Meg pointed at Erik. 

“No!” Christine gasped, and Erik’s eyebrows flew up. “Meg, don’t play now! Are you serious?”

“Yes! I know he seems a fright, but you’ll get used to him. Now, say hello to him,” she nudged her forwards towards Erik, and Christine shot a disapproving look at her friend before turning to Erik. 

There was a blotch of embarrassed color across his cheek even though he was standing with his head held high and proud - he didn’t speak Swedish but he didn’t need to to know that his future student was finding the prospect of learning from him distasteful. 

“ _Bienvenue, mademoiselle_ ” he said tightly with a small bow. 

“ _Bonjour, Erik_ ,” she replied as best she could, curtsying out of politeness but somehow still managing to make the gesture appear insolent. 

_Erik_

His breath caught in throat to hear how his name sounded in her voice, how she rolled the _r_ , how delicate it sounded. 

Then the rest of what she said caught up with him. He huffed. 

“The sun is almost down, she doesn’t even know how to say what time it is,” he gestured at her while speaking to Giry. “She’s can’t say ‘good morning’ when it’s almost night!”

Giry rolled her eyes. 

“You can teach her French as well as singing, then, if it’s so offensive to you,” she told him, then pointed to the shattered cup on her office floor. “And you’re cleaning up that glass.”

Meg ushered Christine out of the office and to the dormitory, explaining everything she needed to know on the way there. 

The opera house was haunted, and Erik was the Ghost. No one knew about him except for Meg and her mother, and he often played tricks and pranks, especially when he didn’t get his way. He sent endless notes to the managers about what he wanted done, which were often obeyed out of fear of the consequences. 

By the time they settled in the dormitory, her things mostly unpacked and the both of them sitting on Christine’s new bed as though they were both little girls again, Christine was not entirely certain how much of this Meg was making up to have a joke with her. 

“Is he... _safe_?” she questioned. 

He sounded almost like a madman. 

Meg replied without hesitation. 

“He’s safe- he’s mostly safe,” she amended. “Just treat him like you’d treat anyone else. Maman and I have never had a problem with him, and she’s known him for years... Besides, she would have kicked him out long ago if he was some kind of pervert!”

Christine wound her hair around a finger, a nervous habit of hers that she was finding herself doing more and more lately. 

“I mean,” Meg shrugged apologetically. “You don’t _have_ to work with him if you don’t want to... He already secured you a spot in the chorus, and he wouldn’t dare take that away from you now and have to face Maman’s wrath... If you’d rather not...”

Christine sighed. He seemed unpleasant and boorish, but he wouldn’t be the first such man she’d had to put up with in her career. 

“You really think he can help me?”

Meg nodded vigorously. 

“Oh, Christine - he sings like an angel! I’ve heard him! I bet you could even become a prima donna one day with his coaching!”

She thought this over a long minute. 

“I suppose I can try a few lessons,” she eventually agreed. “And just see how they go... But if he’s a brute I shan’t work with him.”

The very next day Erik was having an almost similar conversation with Madame Giry. 

“Just give her a few lessons, Erik,” Madame Giry sighed. 

“I never should have agreed to this, I don’t know what I was thinking,” he muttered, crossing his arms. 

“She’s eager to learn. I’m sure she’ll pick things up quickly.”

“She’s already disgusted by me, I can tell.”

Madame Giry quirked an eyebrow. Ah, so _that’s_ this was about. 

“She was merely frightened because you smashed a glass,” she sniffed. 

“Why can’t one of the women in the chorus help her instead?” he waved a hand vaguely, looking for one last excuse to get out of the situation. “She seems far more suited to instruction by a female.”

Madame Giry shook her head. 

“No, you promised. Besides, she’s always had men for tutors before this - she took music lessons from the Professor Valerius back in Sweden, and before that she was taught by her father, the famous violinist,” Madame Giry paused before continuing, softening her voice. “Both of them died not very long ago, Erik. I think this will work out between you two much better than you’re expecting. The poor child could use a father figure in her life again, I believe.”

“And you think I could be that for her?” he scoffed, but he couldn’t hide the hint of hope in his voice. 

“If you don’t insist on treating her like a stagehand you’re trying to frighten into quitting!”

Erik looked away, pretending he had no idea what she was talking about. 

“Just be good to her and teach her,” she insisted. “Just for a few times, at least. You owe me that much.”

It was in that manner that in a few day’s time, Christine found herself following Meg’s directions to a dressing room that was to belong to her. She opened the door and peered in, hoping it was the correct one. 

It had to be - this room surely couldn’t belong to anyone else. It looked like she was the first person to set foot inside for years. It was set apart from the other dressing rooms, too, just like Meg had said - no one would be likely to overhear her in here. 

She sat on the dusty stool in front of the time-speckled vanity mirror before her, wondering when Erik would appear for her lesson. 

All across the vanity lay various little odds and ends, a thimble, some ribbon and thread, a hairbrush, some silver sewing scissors, a pincushion, a dried up bottle of perfume. She fidgeted with a few of them, wondering about their previous owner and what might have happened to her. 

All at once there was noise behind the full length mirror to the left of her. Her heart leapt into her throat, her shoulders tensing as the glass swung open to reveal a dark figure standing behind it. 

It was Erik. He stepped through and closed the glass again before opening his mouth to greet her, only for the greeting to die on his tongue as his eyes fell to her hand. Did she think he was going to-?

In her fright, she had unconsciously grasped the scissors in a defensive manner. 

She followed his line of sight and her face flushed at her own behavior. She quickly dropped them to the vanity, too ashamed to meet his eye. He had looked as though she’d already wounded him just by holding the object, and she hated the guilt that flushed through her for that. 

“Good morning, Christine,” he said politely, even still. “How are you today?”

She quickly stood and curtsied, daring to glance at him. 

“Good morning, Erik.”

She was polite enough, but he could tell she was still eyeing him suspiciously. He cleared his throat and held out a collection of sheet music - the songs she would need to know for the opera that she would be in the coming season. 

“You’ll be in the chorus, but that’s no reason to not polish your voice as best you can. I expect you to practice every day, even if we’re not doing a lesson. Half an hour, minimum. I want you to look through the score of the upcoming show and we’ll start with whichever you feel will give you the most trouble, that way we’ll have adequate time to prepare.”

Christine stared at him with wide eyes as she hesitatingly took the music from him. She held it in her hands, unsure of what he wanted her to do. 

It took Erik a moment to remember that she probably only understood four words out of all he’d just said. 

He smiled awkwardly, and opened the book in her hands, pointing to the first song and tapping it. 

“Sing for me,” he said loudly and slowly. 

“Oh!” 

His breath caught in his throat at her singing voice. She was a little rusty, but even still he was impressed with what she could do, with the amount of untapped potential just underneath the surface. 

It wasn’t just her voice that caught his attention during that very first lesson - she was a very adorable young woman. 

He didn’t think it was an exaggeration to say that her hair was the color of sunbeams and her face held all the beauty of a rose - especially now that she wasn’t scowling at him like she had at their first meeting. She had a petite stature but she stood tall and proud. Erik thought that if some wizard somewhere had brought a doll to life, Christine would be the result. He was not one to go in for cutesy things, nor one to openly show affection for others, but he was possessed by the peculiar urge to hug her. 

He managed to refrain. 

She finished the song and looked at him expectantly. He nodded in an encouraging manner, then pointed to the next song in the book. 

She hesitated, then began to sing. Was he not going to say anything? Surely he wasn’t going to make her sing like a trained canary and then simply send her on her way! 

She finished the next song, then held the book behind her back, tilting her head, waiting for his critique. 

“I hope you don’t mind my saying,” he chuckled. “But you’re much better than I thought you would be!” 

A smile twitched across her lips as her brain worked overtime to decipher his words, trying to decide if she’d been complimented or insulted. 

She sang three more songs, Erik stopping her every now and then to offer advice that she somewhat understood. As the lesson went on, she began to notice something odd. Erik was... Endearing. 

She nearly shuddered to think it, but she regretfully had to admit it was the truth. He had seemed so ill-natured when they first met, so surly, but now he was... Different. Charming. Polite. A little unsure of himself, or perhaps of the situation. When he wasn’t yelling as he had been that first day, his voice was rich and deep and it rolled off his tongue like music and sent a shiver down her spine. She loved hearing his voice, even when she had no idea what he was saying. 

She also secretly loved the look of awe that was in his gaze as he stared at her, that barely restrained sense of wonder as she sang, as though she were the greatest thing he’d ever heard or would hear again. 

Erik, for his part, was both unnerved and intrigued by how easily she met his eye, how she didn’t try to shy away from him. It wasn’t that he _wanted_ her to be afraid of him - far from it. But, well... he _did_ tend to have that affect on people. But not on her. She looked at him as if he were just like everyone else. 

He smiled and clapped his hands to signal the end of the lesson. 

“Very good, Christine! Good job,” he pulled out a little piece of paper and a pen and scrawled a message for her. “Give this to Meg.”

She nodded and took the note from him. 

“Thank you,” she told him, and held her hand out to shake his as a farewell. 

Unable to stop himself, he took her hand and brought it up to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across her knuckles. 

Her breath stuttered, her eyes going wide. She hadn’t expected him to do that. Was this a French gesture? Was it mere politeness or did it mean more? 

He pulled back suddenly, his eyes caressing her as he let her hand slip out of his. He swallowed around a lump in his throat. He had forgotten himself, and he couldn’t allow that to happen again. Madame Giry’s words about a father figure floated back to him, and they settled on him with a crushing guilt. He cleared his throat, placing his hands behind his back, and rocking onto his toes. If Christine told Giry or Meg- if anyone realized how far he’d overstepped his boundaries- good heaves, what had he done? 

“Have a good afternoon, Christine,” he said stiffly. 

“Goodbye, Erik.”

She left the lesson feeling oddly pleased and flattered, a little spring in her step. She held her hand up to look at the place Erik had kissed, tilting her head. How vogue, how positively _French_! 

She found Meg just outside the door of the ballet room, right as she was leaving practice. 

“Christine! How was your lesson?”

“Good, I think!”

She handed her the note that Erik had written, but kept the mention of the kiss to herself - this was a new place with new customs, but she was almost certain that even here it wasn’t exactly normal for one’s teacher to kiss his student at the end of the lesson, even if it was just her hand. 

Meg scanned the contents of the note. 

“Oh!” she said. “It’s instructions for you... He wants you to practice the next three songs from the book, and he says he wants to do another lesson the day after tomorrow if that works for you... He also says you did very well!”

Christine felt her face grow warm. 

“Do you want to do more lessons with him?” Meg inquired, thinking of their earlier conversation. 

“Oh, I think so... He seems to know what he’s talking about,” she shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant. “He was very polite.”

“Good! If he’s ever not, just tell Maman,” Meg giggled. “She’ll smack him with her cane!”

Erik, meanwhile, was pacing in Madame Giry’s office. No one had told him Christine was a prodigy! What absolute luck he had in agreeing to teach her! Who could have imagined that little Giry would be friends with such a talented singer? It was Sweden’s loss, but his incredible gain, and soon, the gain of the whole world. 

“Erik!” Madame Giry arched an eyebrow, surprised to find him there. “How did the lesson go?”

“She is a musical genius, Madame!” he said, his eyes blazing with a strange light. 

“Oh? Where you a gentleman to her?”

“Of course I was!” he sounded wounded, but inside he began to panic. 

He hadn’t truly been a gentleman- a gentleman wouldn’t grab her hand and assault it with his mouth as he had done- he vowed to himself that he would be as careful as he could be with her from now on. 

“She did well, then, I take it?”

“Prima donna, Madame! I guarantee it! It’s only a matter of time!” he held a finger in the air as he declared it, continuing to pace. “And she’ll be perfect in my opera! I have finally have reason to finish it! As soon as it’s done she can perform the lead role- wait till you see it, Giry, wait till you see it!”

She smiled to see how giddy he was over the whole thing, and wondered if he really was going to finish writing that old opera he’d often mention. She hoped he was right about Christine - she was a sweet girl and she deserved to go far in her career. 

“By the way-“ Erik stopped suddenly, considering. “I’m limited in my teaching of her because of the language barrier - what can be done about this?”

“Meg is working with her when they have free time together,” she replied. 

Erik sat in the chair across from her and steepled his fingers. He didn’t want to appear too anxious to be around the girl, but he really did have a legitimate reason to ask... 

“Would you mind asking Christine whether or not she’d find it agreeable to also work on her French with me?” he said, trying to remain aloof. “I think it would help her move along quicker.”

She nodded. 

“I’ll ask her.”

Christine, likewise, tried to play it cool when asked. 

“If you think it’ll help,” was all she said outwardly, but inside she nearly jumping for joy. 

Surely this meant Erik wanted to spend more time around her! 

She eagerly attended her next lesson, which was spent half on singing and half on learning French. 

He offered more corrections this time, even going so far as to sing the verses himself to show her how it should be done. She nearly swooned away with delight right then and there - why he masqueraded as the Opera Ghost and not the Angel of Music instead, she’d never understand. Was it possible to fall in love with a voice? 

He’d somehow acquired a French primer book, like the children in school would use. It made her smile to think of him perhaps bribing some young schoolboy with a bag of candy in exchange for the textbook. He helped her pronounce each word, and she was glad Meg had previously helped her so that she wouldn’t appear too foolish. Eventually she came across a few words that she didn’t know, and Erik stared blankly as he tried to think of to explain them. At last he grabbed a piece of paper and began to draw what the word described, and she was amazed to see that he was quite the artist as well. 

At the end of the lesson she held her hand out again, her heart speeding up in anticipation. Would he kiss it again? But he merely placed both his hands over hers and squeezed it gently, smiling warmly. 

“See you soon, Christine.”

“Okay,” she nodded. 

She was surprised to find how disappointed she was at the lack of anything more, and she scolded herself. Now, she was more glad than ever that she’d not told Meg about the kiss - it must have meant nothing, and how silly she would have felt when Meg explained that to her! 

Inside the secret tunnels, Erik walked back home and let out a long, slow exhale. 

He was the most wretched excuse for a man on the entire planet. He couldn’t stop thinking of her and how precious she looked as she had focused on her studies, her little freckled nose wrinkling, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. 

Truly he was a fiend. 

In just under a week he had managed to fall head over heels for the Swedish orphan, a poor girl just trying to make her way in the world, one who was looking to him to take the place of her dear departed father, and here in his mind he was debasing her with filthy and disgusting thoughts. How could he even stand to live with himself? Despicable, that’s what he was. A predator. A monster. 

A monster who would do anything for Christine Daaé. 

He tried to stay focused, stay professional, but every so often during lessons she’d turn a glance towards him as though she knew what awful things were in his mind. But no, surely she couldn’t - surely she’d be running for the door if she knew what he was thinking of! 

She’d be horrified of all that, but what she didn’t seem horrified by was being taught by him. He’d count his blessings where they were, he supposed, and ruthlessly shoved down all wishes of ever having anything more than what they currently had. 

She was a quick learner, it seemed. In addition to her working through the primer, he used the last quarter of their lesson for conversation. He was loathe to admit it, that even though such conversation was vital to her learning and comprehending French, a very large part of his reason for doing so was simply so he could get to know her. 

Topics were very limited, especially at first, but she was warm and cordial and tried her best to keep up. It might have been his imagination, but he liked to pretend that she enjoyed those talks too. She seemed to hang on his every word, even the ones he knew she didn’t quite follow yet. 

Little did he realize that these conversations were her favorite part of the lessons - though she was hard pressed to pick a favorite anything about spending time with Erik. She thought he was wonderful! She wanted to laugh at her previous fears. Why, this man was as gentle as a lamb! At least, he was to her. 

There was something captivating about him, and she often found her mind wandering, especially at night before going to sleep. It wasn’t that she _wanted_ to imagine such things, but they found their way into her head all the same. She tried to push the thought of him from her mind. She knew she shouldn’t have feelings for him, definitely should not entertain such thoughts - he was a madman! A criminal! A rogue!

She bit her lip, her hands squeezing tight around her blanket as she lost her mental battle and started envisioning what it might be like to kiss him. 

Much to the chagrin of her poor father, and then Mamma and Professor Valerius, she always _had_ preferred the roguish type. 

They began to see each other nearly every day, and on the days that they didn’t meet, she found she missed him terribly. She began to spend time getting to know the other girls in the chorus, and the ballet rats who were friends of Meg, and sometimes little groups of them would take her on trips around Paris to show her the city. She enjoyed it, and she liked to think she had made a few friends, but she couldn’t help the wistful longing in her heart that it could be Erik there with her as she explored the cafes and little shops and cathedrals and museums. She always made certain to tell him excitedly of her adventures out in the world, and he always listened with a warm smile. 

It had only been a handful weeks since she had arrived that it happened. She had been on her way to her evening French lesson with Erik when she remembered that she wanted to wear the new bow she had bought recently. She made her way to the dormitory to retrieve it when she stopped short in the hallway, her face flushing with shame at the sight she saw before her. 

One of the chorus girls had taken a curly - and rather ratty - blonde wig from the costume department and had placed it haphazardly on her head. She puffed out her cheeks and hunched over to look short like Christine, and she was imitating a Swedish accent and babbling gibberish. 

But perhaps the worst part was how four other girls stood around her and shrieked with laughter, clapping their hands. 

They stopped suddenly when they saw Christine watching them, and they all looked shamefaced at what they’d been doing, but none of them apologized. Perhaps none of them had the chance to - Christine turned and fled, her eyes stinging and her sight blurry with tears. She felt like she couldn’t catch her breath, but she ran all the way to her dressing room and fell face first onto the divan there, holding a pillow tight to her chest and sobbing. 

Everyone was making fun of her! They thought she was stupid! They were never her friends, after all. 

“Christine?” Erik appeared from behind the mirror, his voice concerned. “Christine what’s happened?”

She’d nearly forgotten about her upcoming lesson - she’d only thought to run to the only other room that was hers and wasn’t right next to a group of girls mocking her. 

“Christine!” Erik started to panic, falling to his knees beside the divan so he could be level with her. “Chérie, what’s wrong? Tell me, please-“ 

The little name for her spilled out of his mouth without him even realizing. The only thing on his mind was making sure she was okay. 

“They were making- fun of- me,” she sobbed into the pillow, hating her voice sounded. 

She hated her accent that branded her as different, hated how she looked different, hated everything. She wished she’d never come here. 

“Who?” Erik asked, his brow wrinkling under the mask. 

She shook her head. 

“They don’t like me!” 

Her heart broke all over again with a fresh set of sobs. 

“Tell me, Christine,” he said gently and waited. 

“The girls from the chorus,” she sniffled. “They make fun of how I talk. And my hair. And me.”

Erik sighed. He was no stronger to the cruelty of the world. It anguished him to see her like this, and it angered him, too. 

“I hate them!” she cried passionately. “I hate everyone! I hate France!”

“Now you’re starting to sound like me, Chérie,” he smiled wryly, and placed a soothing hand on her back. 

She tried to blink her tears away. She didn’t want Erik to see her like this, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

“Who was it?” he asked innocently enough, his hand rubbing a comforting circle on her back. “Who from the chorus?”

She thought for a moment, then named the five girls. He nodded, making a little noise of recognition, and mentally made note of the names for future reference. Christine thought nothing of it, telling him. Proof of what a sweet, trusting girl she was, he thought. 

“Do you still want to do your lesson tonight?” he asked, uncertain. 

She nodded against the pillow, then sat up as best she could. He rose without difficulty, and handed her the primer. 

“I thought we might go over some grammar tonight,” he said, looking at a note he’d written down from earlier. “That’s your weakest point right now, but I think if-“

He glanced up, then stopped entirely. 

She was still crying, only silently now. It was highly disturbing to him, how she sat there, looking right at him, the perfect picture of a student trying to learn, only with tears still flowing down her cheeks. He was at a loss of what to do for a long moment. 

An idea occurred to him - a selfish idea, admittedly, an inappropriate idea, but one that just might work. 

“Christine,” he said kindly. “I think you might like something different today?”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and looked questioningly at him. 

“Would you like to see my house, Chérie? I have a surprise there.”

She didn’t have to consider. 

“Yes, please.”

It didn’t matter to her what the surprise was - she’d take anything Erik wanted to give her. 

He swallowed hard at her acceptance, his heart beating fast. 

“You wish to come with me? To my home?” he asked cautiously, trying to make certain she knew what she was agreeing to. 

“I do.”

He smiled widely and reached both hands out her, helping pull her up off the couch. 

“Come with me, Chérie,” he led her towards the mirror. “It’s going to be dark for a little while, but don’t be frightened.”

He took her through the tunnels that led to the cellars, then down the many sets of stairs. He kept up a near constant chatter, knowing that she might not entirely understand every word but also knowing it would help keep her mind off the dank surrounds. 

She looked at him curiously as he gestured to the little boat, but she got in it without any fuss. 

Erik himself nearly broke down in tears at how much she trusted him. 

He poled them across the lake until they reached the other side. Christine seemed to have forgotten what had transpired above, too focused on the little house on the bank of the underground lake. 

“Welcome to my home, Christine.”

She was dazzled by this strange way of living. It seemed so sad, so tragic, so romantic. To renounce the world above and live in never ending darkness and solitude? She shivered to think of it. 

The house, though surrounded by darkness, was actually quite cheery inside. Or at least, as cheery as a house belonging to Erik be. It was decorated in darker colors, but it was warm inside, with lots of books and art on the walls. 

“This way,” he was still holding her hand from when he’d helped her to shore, and he squeezed it a little, his heart fluttering at the intimacy of the gesture. 

He led her into a sitting room that had two plush chairs by a crackling fire on the hearth. 

“Oh!” she sucked in a breath at the sight. How cozy it looked! 

“Sit, sit,” he brought her up to one of the chairs, and sat down, smiling up at him. 

She desperately hoped that he’d sit too, but as soon as she was settled he disappeared. Surely he hadn’t brought her to his home to leave her all alone, had he?

But he returned a few minutes later, a plate in one hand and a bowl in the other. 

“For you,” he placed the plate on the little table next to her, and she noticed it had a cookie on it. 

Then he handed her the bowl, which contained scraps of chicken. Her brow furrowed as she looked at it, but he nodded towards the door with a crooked smile. 

“For her,” was his only explanation - but he didn’t need to say any more, for at that moment a meow came from the other room. 

She turned to look. A cat trotted eagerly into the room, sniffing the air and meowing. Christine’s face lit up. A cat! 

Seeing the familiar food bowl in Christine’s hands, the cat jumped up into her lap. Christine had never seen a cat like this, with pale fur down its body and dark brown on its face and feet and bright blue eyes. 

“Is this the surprise?” she asked, delighted. 

“Yes,” Erik sat in the opposite chair. “Her name is Ayesha. I would have brought her up to you, but I don’t think she’d handle the boat ride as well as you would!”

Christine held the food bowl out of Ayesha’s reach, instead picking up a bit of chicken and making Ayesha eat it from her hand. She loved seeing the little beast’s sharp teeth as she chewed, and the feeling of her raspy tongue as she licked Christine’s hand. 

“Oh, she’s so funny!” Christine smiled. 

“She looks just like the cats I’d always see in Persia,” he told her. 

She looked up, surprised. 

“You’ve been to Persia?”

“I’ve been to many places,” he nodded. “It is... always difficult, I know, to be a stranger in a strange land.”

She looked down at Ayesha again, thinking about how Erik might have felt just as out of place in Persia as she did in France. Ayesha meowed, and Christine had to smile - she didn’t meow like the cats she was used to seeing. Even the cat had an accent, apparently. 

After all the chicken was eaten, Ayesha curled up in her lap and went to sleep, purring loudly. Christine continued to pet her, listening to Erik tell stories about his time in Persia - stories that were first edited to avoid any upsetting details, and then edited again to fit her vocabulary level. But Christine listened to them eagerly, eating her cookie. 

They lapsed into comfortable silence after a while, the atmosphere cozy and relaxing. 

“Erik,” she said in a small voice. “Can you help me- not have an accent?”

“Of course I can, Chérie.”

“Oh good,” she sighed, then said as though she were admitting a terrible secret- “I hate it.”

“You hate your accent?”

She nodded. 

Erik was quiet a moment. 

“Is that because of the other girls?”

She nodded again, slowly. 

“I like your accent, Christine. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Her heart skipped a beat. 

“You do?” she breathed, surprised. 

“I do. I think it’s lovely.”

She bit her lip, not meeting his eye. She wondered what else he thought was lovely. 

“Are you feeling better?” he asked gently. 

“Yes. Thank you, Erik,” she said gratefully. 

“Are you ready to go back upstairs?”

She nodded, picking Ayesha up from her lap and placing a kiss on the animal’s fuzzy little forehead before setting her back down on the chair. 

What she wanted more than anything in that moment was to throw her arms around Erik and hug him in gratitude. He hadn’t had to bring her here and try to cheer her up, and yet he had. While she was petting the cat and listening to his stories, she’d managed to forget, for a little while, the way the other girls had made her feel. It wasn’t appropriate to hug him, she knew, but then again, it wasn’t particularly appropriate for him to bring her to his house all by herself, either. 

Still, she held herself back. The evening had lovely, even without a hug. She couldn’t express how happy she was that Erik’s cat seemed to like her, and was hesitant to admit the reason that it pleased her. She knew from Meg that Erik was an orphan too, both of his parents long since gone. Meeting - and being accepted by - his beloved pet was the next best thing to meeting her future mother-in-law, though she knew it wasn’t exactly the same. The entire evening had been a pleasure. She only wished that the reason it had occurred could have been more pleasant. 

After that night, she tried her best to speak only French, even when it was just her and Meg. Meg tried over and over to get her to explain what the matter was, but Christine refused to tell her, too embarrassed of what had happened with the other girls.

It was a few days after the incident that a handful of chorus girls mysteriously lost their voices. 

It was Meg who brought it up one day in Madame Giry’s office while Erik and Christine were there. 

“Lost their voices?” Christine’s hand fluttered up to her own throat, imagining how terrible that would be. 

“Oh yes! A few went to the doctor, but he couldn’t say for certain when they’d be able to talk again - or sing,” Meg said. 

“Who was it, again?” Christine chewed nervously at a fingernail, worrying something contagious might be going around. 

Meg mentioned the names again, and it dawned on Christine that these were the same girls who had been making fun of her recently. She glanced over at Erik, the only person she had told about the incident. He was watching her, his face impassive, but a flicker of care for her in his eyes. 

“How strange,” she said quietly. 

“How strange indeed,” he mused, and then the subject changed. 

She felt that same shiver down her spine, the one she always seemed to get when she was around him, the one she got when she learned something new - something that should disturb her but didn’t - about her maestro, but she never brought the topic up with him. She knew it had been him, and he knew that she knew, and that was enough for both of them, this unspoken secret they held. 

Although it gave her a headache at times, she spoke only in French unless she wanted to discuss a topic that she didn’t have the vocabulary for. 

Something that puzzled and intrigued her in the days following her visit to his house were the new little names he’d call her. She dearly wanted to know why he was calling her these, but felt silly asking him what he meant. Would he tell her the correct answer? Would he stop, once she knew what they meant? Was he- he wasn’t secretly making fun of her, too, was he? 

She decided to ask Meg one day when they alone in her dormitory room, sitting cross legged on her bed as they folded paper flowers that would become a birthday gift for Meg’s cousin. 

“Meg,” Christine started, uncertain how to bring the subject up. “There’s a word I want to know the meaning of...”

“What is it?”

“Chérie,” she ducked her head, embarrassed. 

“Oh! It’s a term of endearment.”

“Endearment?” she looked up hopefully. “So if someone calls you that, they like you?”

“Yeah, probably. It means ‘darling’, or ‘dear’,” she told her. 

Christine scooted closer. 

“Like- like you’d call someone you were in love with?” she asked breathlessly. 

“Mm hmm,” Meg nodded. 

“And what about ‘petite’? What does that mean?”

“It means little one...”

Christine’s brow furrowed. 

“Would you still say that to someone you loved?”

“You could! My mom used to call me that when I was a kid,” she reminisced, then laughed a little. “But when we had a dog and we called it that too!”

Christine’s face fell. Erik might be in love with her - or he might consider her like a daughter, or worse- a dog...

“Christine,” Meg drawled, grinning. “Who’s been calling you all these sweet names?”

Christine blushed and looked away. 

“Just... _Someone_. But, ah, how do I- how does one tell someone that they love them?”

“Je t’aime,” Meg told her. “But if you say ‘je t’aime bien’, it means you only like them as a friend.”

“Oh,” she breathed. 

Well, she wouldn’t be needing that phrase. She loved Erik, but not just as a friend. 

And Erik loved her too, or at least she thought he did. She was hard pressed to find a reasonable explanation otherwise for the way he often acted around her. He’d crossed the bounds of propriety fives times over with her, but she didn’t mind at all. 

Once, she was fairly certain that she’d caught him sniffing her hair during a lesson. 

They’d been singing a duet together, their voices blending into something heavenly, and he had been walking around the little dressing room anxiously. He’d come and stood right behind her, much like the stage directions would have his character move behind hers. She’d been surprised when he’d placed his hands on her shoulders, but she hadn’t faltered and was proud of that. 

She’d been even more more surprised when she was almost certain that he’d leaned in towards her as he was inhaling for his next verse, the end of his masked nose ever so gently touching a few of her curls and moving them just slightly. 

She’d waited for him to stop singing and take it further, but he didn’t. He suddenly let go of her, throwing himself into the next verse. She was more disappointed than she cared to admit. 

Erik hadn’t _meant_ to sniff her hair. It’s just that she was close, and he hadn’t thought she’d notice, and she smelled like rose petals and vanilla beans... He’d been mortified after it happened, and for a brief instant he had panicked that she’d turn around and slap him. But the poor girl kept singing, completely unaware of what a disgusting lecher he was. He thanked his lucky stars that this was the most he ever let his self-control slip. 

She’d never felt about anyone the way she felt about him. She’d met those she’d gotten along with on a personal level, good friends who had stayed close to her for a while. She’d had a number of excellent teachers before, people she’d admired and worked well with. She’d seen men that she thought were quite charming and handsome, too, men she’d giggle over with Meg. But she’d never met anyone who seemed such a part of herself as he did. She couldn’t wait for the day when they could speak together on any number of subjects, when they could have long, deep conversations about the world and the stars and dreams and the soul. She felt so comfortable around him, as if they’d always known each other. 

While she was daydreaming about a life with him, he was secretly doing likewise. He couldn’t believe he’d truly asked her to his house, and that she’d agreed! How perfect she had looked there in the midst of the rest of his belongings. He wanted her there again, and the thought gnawed at him until one day he just had to bring it up. 

“Christine, would you like to join me at my house for tea?” he asked, trying not to betray the nervousness he felt at her potential rejection. 

“Yes, please!” she beamed - she’d thought he’d never ask! 

She noticed the look of relief and pure joy on his face as she accepted, and stowed away this little of information in her mind, more seeming proof that he returned her affections. 

“Oh, wait!” she turned and quickly looked for something in one of the drawers on her vanity. 

He looked at her quizzically as she grabbed something and stuffed it into her pocket before coming to walk with him through the mirror tunnel. 

He took her to the same sitting room again, and she spotted Ayesha peering over at her from where she was stretched in front of the fire. She blinked lazily and turned her gaze away, content to play at being aloof, but Christine knew what would change her mind. As soon as Erik had left to prepare the tea, she pulled out the ribbon she had stowed in her pocket, unfurling it with a flourish. Ayesha instantly focused on it, and Christine grinned. 

When returned with the tea tray and was greeted with the sight of Christine pulling the ribbon across the floor and into the air, Ayesha leaping and jumping after it. He smiled. His two favorite girls, both having fun together. 

She smiled sheepishly as she sat down to tea. To be here in his home with him, to drink from his cups and eat off his plates, to entertain his cat... She could almost pretend they were courting. How she wished that they were. 

She tried to steer the conversation to more personal subjects, and Erik indulged her wishes. She asked how long he’d lived in France, and where he’d lived before. They’d talked at length in the past over personal preferences - she knew he liked the taste of lemon, preferred the overcast days to the sunlight, his favorite color was red, and many more little things. Still, there were more things she wanted to know about him - she didn’t think she’d ever run out of things to learn about this strange and fascinating man - things she would want to know if they were courting and intending on marrying. 

One question in particular begged to be asked, though she felt slightly shy about bringing it up. 

Erik was... not a young man. He was around Madame Giry’s age, and at one point he had lived out in the world before becoming a Ghost. Had there been others before her? Women who had fallen for this eccentric man? Women he had fallen for? She wanted to know. 

It wasn’t until their tea was over and he was gathering their dishes to take to the kitchen that she finally gathered the courage to ask. 

“Did you ever have a wife?” Christine asked. 

Erik nearly dropped the tea tray. 

“No, no,” he rushed to say. “No wife for Erik.”

Her brow crinkled in the most adorable way, and he quickly hurried to leave the room so he could gather his wits about him. 

She stood and followed him. 

“Why?” she asked, the picture of perfect innocence. 

He cleared his throat as he began washing the tea cups and plates, not wanting to face her. 

“I’m not- I’m afraid I’m rather unpleasant underneath of this,” he gestured to his mask. “No woman would want to kiss the face of a monster. I can’t blame them, either.”

Christine stood near him, listening dutifully. 

“Hard enough to look in a mirror,” he mused, half to himself, not really expecting her to listen or to understand but finding it almost comforting to have someone hear him speak. “If I can’t stomach it, how could a poor woman stand it? No, it’s better like this, for Erik to be alone. He couldn’t condemn anyone to that, to having to gaze day and night on his accursed ugliness, to become the bride of such a repulsive carcass - it would far too cruel. No one could ever love Erik.”

She didn’t quite understand every word he was saying, but it seemed that he was self conscious about his face. How silly! That didn’t matter to her! Other women might think him frightening, but she thought him rather adorable...

She racked her brain for the words to explain that to him, but came up empty. Instead, she did the next best thing. It was brazen and forward, but it felt right. 

Erik was shocked to feel her arms go around his waist as she pressed herself against his back. Christine was- she was _hugging_ him. He shifted to look down at her and found she was smiling up at him, her eyes sparkling. 

“ _Je t’aime_ , Erik,” she said shyly. 

A ghost of a smile drifted over his own face. 

“Oh, Christine,” he breathed, then reached down to pull her away from him. “ _Je vous aime bien, aussi_. It’s good for a student to like their teacher, it helps the lessons go easier! But you must remember to address me properly, you’ll be quite embarrassed one day when you forget your manners with someone important and refer to them so casually!”

He chuckled to himself a little and patted her shoulder now that he had placed her at a safe and respectable distance from himself. 

“Anyway, come along now! It is time for your music lesson,” he turned to lead her from the kitchen. 

She blinked hard against the stinging in her eyes. He was important, and she hadn’t made a mistake in how she’d spoken... She might not be very fluent, but she knew enough to know that she’d just offered up her heart to him and he’d firmly established that he didn’t think of her that way at all. 

Erik felt terribly guilty afterwards. She’d understood enough to know he felt bad about himself, and she’d picked up on his loneliness and had wanted to help him feel better. She was such a kind girl, always wanting to look out for others, of course she’d try to cheer him up however she knew how. He couldn’t read too much into her gesture or her words, really. She was just trying to be nice. 

He repeated Madame Giry’s words in his head, a mantra that served as a bucket of cold water poured over him - Christine wanted a father figure. That was all she saw him as, and that was all he should be treating her as, too. 

He had to be more careful around her! 

Her singing lesson went well, though she looked somewhat distressed during it. He couldn’t imagine why, and after finding no discernable cause, dismissed it in his own mind as female trouble of some sort. 

Over the course of a day or so, Christine came to realize that perhaps it wasn’t that he didn’t have feelings for her, but just that he didn’t want her to know because he feared her rejection - and he thought her lack of fluency in French meant that she didn’t know what she was saying. She had to find a way to show him that she wouldn’t reject him, and that she understood her own feelings and meant what she had said. 

She thought perhaps she’d found the way to do so when something happened on her third visit to his home. 

He stepped away for a moment after their music lesson, leaving her to her own devices when she suddenly remembered a question she’d wanted to ask about a song. She walked the house, looking for him, and happened to find him bent over the kitchen sink with a small towel in his hand and the water running.

“Erik?” 

“Don’t! Don’t look!” he nearly shouted. 

She realized he was unmasked and looked away, though his back was still to her. 

“Christine I mean it - don’t look, you’ll be too frightened-“ 

He patted at his face quickly with the towel - the mask had rubbed a sore spot on his cheek and he’d needed a moment to put some cool water on it to soothe the insistent burn - before scrambling to grab the mask that was on the counter and reaffix it to his face. 

“I won’t be frightened,” she promised, her heart beating fast. 

“No, no, it’s too terrible, Petite,” he turned and frowned, now masked, the towel in his hand. 

Her eyes fell to it and her brow knit together in concern - there was a spot of blood on the towel. 

“Erik you’re hurt!”

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” he assured her. 

But it distressed her, to think that he was doing something that hurt him just for her perceived comfort. She wouldn’t let the topic go for the entire time they were going upstairs. 

“Please Erik,” she begged. “It’s hurting you. I won’t mind.”

He shook his head. 

“You don’t deserve to have to see that.”

“You don’t deserve to hurt!” her voice echoed off the stone walls so far underground. 

His heart ached with love for her, and that was why he knew he could never let her see. 

“I won’t mind. I promise. I won’t be afraid!” she went on. 

“I’m sorry, Christine, but I can’t.”

He was being so stubborn! It infuriated her. If he would just let her see it, then he would see that she really didn’t mind! 

They stood there behind her mirror a long moment before parting. 

“Please Erik ,” she whispered, placing her hand over her own face where his mask covered, then removing it as one would remove a mask. “Please let me see you...”

He smiled sadly. 

“Goodnight, Christine.”

And he turned and left. 

The fourth visit to his home was not a visit for a lesson, but simply a visit. She’d asked to spend the day the at his house, and she’d still wanted to go even after he warned her that he was intent on getting some composing done that day. She promised to be quiet and good, and he’d escorted her down to that underground world she’d loved so much. She’d clung close to him on the journey down, and he’d pulled her closer, thinking she was frightened of the dark. He didn’t see the secret smile on her face, didn’t know she was thinking that this trip always made her feel like Persephone and how much she enjoyed that. 

Erik was secretly pleased as well. She, along with all the other girls, had the day off from rehearsals, and instead of going shopping or to the river with friends, she’d asked to spend the day with _him_. It was terribly flattering. But oh, how sickened she would be if she knew the feelings he harbored for her! It was wrong, he knew, but he fully intended to spend the day pretending that she was his little wife - the illusion would be broken, of course, when he took her back upstairs in the evening, but until then- 

It was a difficult task, to chose between Christine and music. He wanted to write, but he also wanted to bask in her presence. Did she have any idea how precious she was? 

He stayed and chatted with her a while, eventually and reluctantly leaving her for the organ in the other room. 

Left to herself, she picked up Ayesha and cuddled her against her face, carrying her with her as she examined Erik’s belongings up close. She looked quietly into drawers and cabinets, feeling guilty but not too guilty considering the man made his living spying on others. She found nothing too out of the ordinary. Most of his book titles she couldn’t read, or if she could, she didn’t understand the context. It irked her, and she vowed to one day be so well versed in French that they could discuss every book on the shelf. 

At long last she came to stand outside the door of the room he was composing in. A plan was forming in her mind. 

She chewed on her lip as she watched him from the corner of the room, her arms crossed around herself. He looked to be lost in his music - he hadn’t even heard her come in the room. 

Her current plan was... impulsive. Reckless. Not the best. 

But she could think of no other way to go about it. She’d asked, as best she could, and he hadn’t understood. 

Her plan was really very simple. She’d snatch off the mask and kiss his cheek before he even had time to feel embarrassed about how he looked. She had seen men who’d come back from war, and those who’d been in terrible accidents before. There was surely nothing under there that would truly disgust her, not for very long! It was silly of him to keep wearing that mask around her, it surely couldn’t be very comfortable - especially if it was making his face bleed.

He didn’t even hear her as she approached, or at least she didn’t think he did - he certainly gave no indication that he had noticed her, or if had noticed, he only gave no acknowledgment. 

She reached a hand out, hesitating. He wouldn’t like it, not at first, but she thought it better to get this over with. The sooner he realized she didn’t care about his face, the sooner they could become close and then something more. If she had understood the situation correctly, he thought the mask - or what was under it - was holding him back in love. Once that obstacle was removed, maybe he could finally admit his true feelings for her!

She pulled the mask off, a little smile playing at her lips, but Erik’s reactions were faster - she didn’t even have time to lean in and kiss him.


	2. Chapter 2

“ _No!_ ” he screamed, banging his fists on the organ keys, the discordant noise ripping through the room like the feeling of betrayal ripped through him. “ _Damn you!_ ”

He wheeled around to face her, his face twisted with rage. She tried to back up away from him, but stumbled over her own feet, falling hard to the ground. 

He grabbed the inkwell from its place atop the organ and threw it against the wall behind the organ where it shattered, an explosion of glass and red ink that reminded Christine far too much of blood. 

She scooted herself across the floor backwards, trying to put as much space between them as she could, her eyes darting between his brooding figure and the stain on the wall next to him. 

“You couldn’t be satisfied with what we had?!” he shouted, shoving all the sheet music to the ground where he kicked it, not caring that the pages were ripping. “You just had to pry, didn’t you?!”

She felt hot tears pouring down her face from her wide, unblinking eyes. She was suddenly all too aware that she was entirely alone with this man, so far under the earth that no one would hear her scream or even know where to look for her. And miss her, if she disappeared? An orphan in a new country where she didn’t even speak the language? Who was to say Meg and Madame Giry wouldn’t believe any story the Ghost came up with to explain where she had went?

“You couldn’t let me be a man, just once in my life? You wanted to see the monster, instead?” he overturned the little bench in front of the organ. “Dammit Christine, how could you do this to me?!”

She couldn’t understand half of his words on a good day, and currently she was paralyzed with fear. She didn’t fully know what he was saying, but there was no mistaking his rage and the fact that she was the cause of it. She cowered, trying to make herself small, trying to delay the moment when his fury would suddenly focus itself on her. 

“How could you do this to yourself?”

His voice echoed loudly off of the walls. 

“You’ll never be free of what you saw!”

He shoved the bench again, and for a brief, horrible moment, Christine envisioned him snapping one of the bench’s legs off and suddenly rounding upon her with his new weapon. 

But instead he turned to face the organ again, hunching over it and panting. In his mind, he could see it all as if it were happening right then - being unmasked as a child in the nightly shows at the circus while people screamed and gasped, being accosted by rufians in Russia who tried to kill him after seeing what he looked like, being bound and forcibly unmasked before the Shah of Persia - and now his dear little Christine had done the very same to him, all because she had wanted to gawk at the monster underneath the facade of a man just like all the others had. 

He noticed a single piece of paper had escaped his earlier fury, and he crumpled it violently in his hands before throwing it at the wall. 

“Did everything we had mean nothing to you? Were you tired of pretending I was a man? Did you really think-“

He turned to face her and suddenly stopped his shouting when he saw her. 

The sight of her there, on the ground where she had fallen (or had he pushed her? He couldn’t even remember), shaking with terror as she cried and choked out words in Swedish that could only be a prayer judging on how she clasped her trembling hands together, utterly broke his heart. 

He had done this to her. This was because of him. 

He threw his hand up over the deformed side of his face, wanting to spare her the horrific sight as much he could. He took a tentative step towards her. 

“Christine-“ his voice cracked. 

She flinched at the step he took, afraid of him getting any closer. 

His eyes widened and he sank to his knees, crumpling to the ground. She really and truly thought he was going to harm her, and the realization that she saw him that way was suffocating. What had he done? 

“Oh, Christine,” he sobbed. 

He looked around for where his mask had fallen to, finally seeing it on floor near her. His heart sank as he realized he’d have to go closer to her in order to get it. 

He crawled, slowly, towards her, and she pulled her legs in closer to herself since her back was already against the wall. He stopped as far away from her as he could, stretching his arm out to reach the mask, and then quickly putting it on. 

“I’m sorry, Erik, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she pleaded, staring at him with red and watery eyes. 

He swallowed hard. 

“Christine did I hurt you?” he asked softly. 

But she only repeated her apologies. 

“I didn’t mean to, Christine,” he said, still laying on the floor. “I’m so, so sorry... Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She blinked and sniffled, slowly realizing he wasn’t still angry enough to do anything bad. He looked quite broken, in fact, now that she could look at him without panicking, and it only made her want to cry all the more. 

His question finally registered in her mind, and she shook her head, wiping her nose on her hand. 

“I’m okay,” she said in the most un-okay sounding voice ever. 

He sat up slowly, still looking at her with regret. 

“Christine, why?” he whispered, anguished. “Why would you want to see that?”

“I thought- I thought-“ she found she didn’t know how to explain what she thought. 

She shrugged helplessly, her brow crinkled. 

“You’ll hate me now,” he said flatly.

Her shoulders tensed, not certain if he meant that she’d hate him because of his face, or if she was going to hate him for something he was about to do. 

But all he did was hold his hands out to her, regret and sadness in his eyes, and when at last she offered him her hand, he helped pull her up into a sitting position. 

They sat that way a long moment, both of them silent as they stared at each other, as though they needed to process what had just happened. 

At last he rose with a deep sigh. 

“Let’s get you back upstairs,” he said, and she could hear the tiredness in his voice, and - dare she hope? - a little bit of tenderness. 

She took his hand and he pulled her up to standing, his eyes roving over her with regret. Her dress was rumpled and dirty, and he felt fresh waves of shame come over him. 

They were both silent for the entire trip. 

Christine’s heart was a mix of confusing and tumultuous emotions. His rage had terrified her, and she wavered between feeling upset and feeling responsible for it. He shouldn’t have caused such a ruckus! And she shouldn’t have ripped off his mask... 

It was difficult, when the one person she wanted most to comfort her was also the person who had caused her to need that comfort. 

She wasn’t entirely certain if it made her naïve or foolish, but- she still loved him. His kind reactions to her now, the way that even in the middle of his fit he hadn’t directed his anger at her, only at his own possessions - she still felt the same about him as she had before this happened. At least she felt that she would once the shock had worn off. 

She was slightly confused about why he was sending her upstairs - did he think she wanted to go upstairs? She did, in a way. But did he want her to go upstairs? Did he not want her around him now? Was he still angry inside, did this change how he might feel about her? 

She blinked against a fresh sting in her eyes. She hadn’t wanted this to happen at all. This was the opposite of what she wanted! She had wanted them to feel closer to each other! But now it felt like there was entire ocean between them. 

Erik felt nothing but numb inside. Numb, and guilt. He might not have hurt her physically, but he’d scarred her mentally. Everything would be forever altered between them now - gone were those carefree days when he could pretend at being a real man around her. She’d seen his true face, and it had terrified her. 

At last, as he let her walk through the mirror frame and into her dressing room, he spoke. 

“I am sorry, Christine, that you had to see that,” he said, mournful. 

She looked at him, frowning at the memory of how he had shouted and screamed. 

“It frightened me,” she said quietly, slightly reproachful. 

He smiled sadly, as though he’d been proven right. 

“I did warn you that my face was frightening,” he said, and closed the mirror. 

She stared at her reflection a moment before she fully understood what he had said. His face-? He thought she was frightened because of his _face_? It was his rage and violence that had scared her! His face was fine! 

Well, in the brief look she had gotten at it, it wasn’t exactly _fine_ \- it was twisted and scarred and highly unpleasant and she could see why he wore a mask - but she hadn’t been crying and trembling because of his _face_. 

She needed to tell him. She stepped up to the mirror and knocked on the surface, calling for him. 

“Erik? Erik! Wait!”

But Erik was already gone. 

She turned and left the room, her thoughts starting to race. Uncertain what else to do, she sought out Meg. 

“Christine? You look terrible - did something happen?” Meg frowned when she saw her. 

“Oh Meg - I’m afraid I’ve done something terrible,” she confessed. 

She told her the whole horrible story - conveniently leaving out the parts where her motive was the giant crush she had on Erik, and the part about planning to kiss him. 

“Can you please help me write a letter to him?” she wiped at her eyes, teary again after telling the tale. “I want to explain and apologize.”

“Of course,” she assured her. 

On one hand, Meg couldn’t help but be slightly in awe of Christine - treating the fearsome Phantom as though he were a schoolyard chum! On the other - Erik was very ugly, or so she’d heard - very ugly, and very poorly treated throughout his life. It couldn’t have been easy for him to be unmasked, though Christine truly hadn’t known about that part of his life. Meg felt slightly guilty - she’d told Christine a lot about him, but she’d left out the more gruesome parts of his life, the events and situations that had traumatized him, thinking that by doing so she was respecting his privacy and letting Christine get to know him as more than the product of his face and the result of his abuse. But now? She wasn’t so certain. 

Christine wrote in Swedish what she wanted the letter to say, and Meg transcribed it into French, which Christine then copied in her own handwriting. 

She hugged Meg tightly with gratitude, sighing. 

Erik, down his house, wandered about in a haze. Ayesha followed him, meowing, wondering what was wrong with her papa. He barely noticed her. 

He replayed the scene over and over in his mind, still shocked at both of their actions. She’d never come back to his house, now. She might not want lessons, either. 

Despite all his imaginings, he knew she was only a student to him and not a wife - she had no duty, no obligation to stay around him. He’d already given her dozens of lessons, his debt to Giry was plenty repaid. How he would miss her, after this. 

He might retire as the Ghost. He had enough money, he supposed, and it had the added benefit of never having to leave his house again, ever. That seemed rather appealing at the moment. 

He wasn’t certain how long he spent thinking such things, but eventually he was pulled out of his dark musings by a little bell ringing. Someone had tripped an alarm. 

He went to look at which one had been set off and frowned - someone was in Box Five. But only Giry had the key to Box Five. Was she there to yell at him for what he’d done to Christine? 

With a sigh, he left to go find out. 

But it wasn’t Giry - in fact, it wasn’t anyone. It was a little box, tied up with a ribbon, and an envelope. He closed and locked the door behind him, picking up the envelope and opening it. He would recognize that handwriting anywhere - he saw it often enough. 

_Erik,_  
 _I’m very sorry that I touched your mask without asking. I shouldn’t have, and I know that now. Please know that I was not scared of your face, only of your anger. I truly didn’t mean to upset you. I hope we can still do our lessons together, just like before. Your face really does not matter to me. That was my only intention when I took your mask, to show you that I didn’t mind. ~ Christine_

He pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes at the letter. Stuffing it back in the envelope, he turned his attention to the box, pulling the ribbon off and opening it. The scent of lemon reached his masked nose, and he raised an eyebrow. 

Lemon cookies. 

The dear girl had gotten him a gift? An apology gift? Or perhaps an offering to appease the monster. 

Either way, they tasted delicious. 

Their next lesson was in two days. Christine sat in her dressing room and fidgeted. Would Erik show up? If he did, would he still be angry with her? Nearly every possible outcome made her nervous. 

The clock struck the hour of her lesson and he wasn’t there. Her heart sank as she feared she’d seen the very last of him - he wasn’t coming. 

But a moment later the mirror opened up and he stepped inside the room, his face impassive. 

She stood, her hands still picking at themselves, trying ascertain his mood. 

He likewise studied her for a moment, pausing to see if she would say anything first. When she remained silent, he decided to speak first. 

“I received your gift and letter, Christine,” he said. “Thank you very much.”

“I meant what I said,” she said nervously, twisting her fingers together. 

He held eye contact with her, and she met his gaze just as unwaveringly. It was a lovely story, was it not? That she would only fear his anger and not his hideous face. He wondered which Giry she had asked for help with the spelling... and with the explanation. 

“Did you really?” he mused. “Hmm. You need not spare an old man’s feelings, Petite.”

“Take off your mask, and I’ll prove it,” her voice sounded more pathetic than she would have liked. 

He studied her a long moment, and she thought he really might take it off, but he simply turned away from her. 

“Let’s start with the last song from act one, shall we?” was all he said. 

It was sorely tempting to take her up on the dare - could she possibly be telling the truth? But it would hurt more than anything if he saw her flinch or look away once he removed the mask. He didn’t think he could stand that. No, it was far better to leave it as it was, to have some hope - even if it was false hope - than to take her up on her word and find out the truth. 

Their lesson ended after the hour was up, but Erik hesitated before leaving. 

“Christine,” he said, uncertain. “I am- no matter the reason, I am sorry that I frightened you. I promise it will not happen again.”

He held out a tentative hand and placed it softly on the side of her arm, ready to pull back if she flinched. But she took a step closer to him instead, and the tension went out of his shoulders. 

“Thank you, Erik,” she said sincerely. 

She wanted badly to hug him, but was afraid of pushing him past his comfort zone again. He looked for a moment as though he might hug her instead, but the moment past, and he took his leave of her. 

They saw each other throughout the week for her lessons, always in her dressing room, and though things seemed mostly back to normal between them, he still seemed rather formal with her. She thought on it for a long time and eventually came to the conclusion that maybe she really _had_ been misreading him - he enjoyed teaching her, but he didn’t feel about her the way she felt about him. 

It was a difficult conclusion to accept, and just when she almost certain that it was the correct one, their dynamic shifted yet again and only confused her all the more. 

As time went on and Christine treated him just the same, it became easier and easier for Erik to pretend that she really hadn’t seen his face after all - or, perhaps, he could pretend that she _had_ seen and it really didn’t matter to her. That second scenario was almost dangerous to imagine - it only made him love her all the more. If perfect, angelic Christine could look upon his face and still smile at him in that charming way that she did, why- he would be a dog at her feet the rest of his days. 

It was easy, too easy, for him pretend that there was anything else between them than a simple camaraderie between mentor and student, and he hated how quickly his mind could twist her unknowing and innocent phrases and gestures. 

“I miss Ayesha,” she confided to him one day with a shy and pretty smile. “How is she?”

His heart skipped a beat. If he wanted, he could almost picture this was her way of asking to come back to his house... But surely she only missed the cat, not his house and certainly not his company. 

“Ayesha is quite well, Chérie...”

A wicked impulse came over him. 

“Perhaps, ah- perhaps you’d like to see her for yourself?”

Christine’s face lit up. 

“Oh, yes! Please?”

“Of course!”

He tried to shove down the guilt he suddenly felt. There was nothing wrong with having her in his house - it wasn’t as though he were kidnapping her! He had no _intentions_ towards her once they’d get there... 

None he planned on acting on, anyway. 

He led her downstairs when her lesson was finished, and the two of them searched for Ayesha in the little house. Christine found her sleeping underneath of a chair and hauled her out, picking her up and cradling her close to her chest. Ignoring the plaintive meows, she buried her face in Ayesha’s soft fur as she sat down in the chair the cat had been under. Ayesha turned her confused and questioning blue eyes to Erik, who was watching from the doorway, but he only smiled. 

Christine was smiling, too. Not just because she loved that little cat, but because her secret plan to get back into Erik’s house had worked. She silently thanked Ayesha for existing, because without the cat as an excuse, she wouldn’t have known how to ask to visit his home again. 

It was after that afternoon that they began to have lessons in his home again on a regular basis - not for themselves, of course, but for Ayesha. 

“Would like to do your singing lesson downstairs, perhaps? Ayesha misses you, you see.”

“Oh yes! If Ayesha wants me to, that is.”

A convenient excuse on all accounts, and an oft used one. 

As her French improved they found it easier to converse, and as she spent more and more time around him in his house, he began to see more of her personality shine through. Nothing delighted him more than learning about her. She was a hard worker, dedicated and studious, but she also loved silly things and jokes. But sometimes she had long moments of what seemed to him a certain kind of sadness, too. He asked her about them, once, after he had come upon her staring at the fire with a look of deep melancholy. She had explained that she missed her life from before, back when her papa was still alive and they lived in Sweden and everything was easy. 

Erik thought he could understand, perhaps a little. Nothing had ever been easy for him, though, not even when he was child. Even still, he felt that ache for a life that would never be his. He tried to explain that to her, and she had smiled sadly at him, reaching her hand out to take his and squeezing it a little. They didn’t say much after that, simply sitting next to each other by the fire, and Erik wasn’t certain how many of his words she had actually understood, but he _felt_ understood, and perhaps that was enough. 

Despite the friendship that was forged between them, she still had trouble communicating. Her French was improved, but nowhere near fluet yet. She found the need to say words she didn’t know yet, and with no Meg around in the cellars and Erik not speaking a lick of Swedish, she didn’t even know where to begin to explain what she wanted to say. 

But while it made asking for a specific dish to be cooked for dinner or trying to puzzle over a word in book annoying, it made talking about what was so clearly growing between them downright unbearable. 

It was something she still spent time thinking over - what was she to Erik? Sometimes she could think that he merely enjoyed her presence, like a vase of flowers or Ayesha - something to tend to and cultivate and admire to pass the time. But inevitably something would happen that would make her think otherwise - he _desired_ her. He could hide it very well, but he was only human and every so often his façade would slip. Those little slips gave her hope each time they occurred. They would happen when they were least expected, sometimes during her lessons. 

“You’re making the wrong shape with your mouth.”

Erik was slightly irritated - this was a new song for her, yes, but he’d given her this correction before. 

“ _Ehhh_ ,” she tried again. 

“ _Ohhh_ ”, he corrected. 

“ _Hahhhh_.”

“ _Ohhh_.”

“ _Hohhh_.”

“No, Christine - _ohhh_ ,”

She looked at him, confused, and tried again, only to fail once more. 

Frustrated, his hand moved without him even thinking of what he was doing. 

“Your lips have to be different-“

Before he knew it, his forefinger and thumb were on either side of her mouth, pressing together to push her lips into the proper shape. 

His eyes went wide as he realized what he’d just done - what he was still doing. 

“Oh,” he breathed, suddenly becoming aware of just how close they were standing to each other. 

She looked up at him with all the trust in the world, as though he were not currently squeezing her face between two fingers - or if he was, letting him know that she didn’t mind in the least. 

“ _Ohhh_ ,” she tried again. 

“Good girl,” he licked his lips, his hand lingering on her face a moment longer, his gaze on her own lips intense. 

She tried to silently will him into kissing her - he was already so close! - but after a moment he seemed to remember himself and he let go, suddenly taking a few steps back. 

She frowned a little, disappointed, and brought her own hand up to cover the area on her face where he had been touching - she could still feel his icy grip even as she rubbed at the spots, and it made her shiver. Was the man this cold everywhere? She badly wanted to find out. 

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her for the rest of the lesson. How easily his self control could have slipped! How quickly he could have taken advantage of her, how close he had been to doing so. Shame and lust mingled and coursed through his veins. She was more addicting than any substance he’d tried in his younger years. 

He cleared his throat and straightened his jacket, still not facing her. 

“Once more, from the beginning,” he said gruffly. “Make certain it’s right this time.”

She narrowed her eyes at his back. She’d worked with any number of male teachers and tutors in her career, yet none of them had acted like this around her. There was simply no other explanation - he had feelings for her, of some sort. Feelings that went beyond being her tutor or even her friend. It was so obvious! 

But why did he not simply come out and say so? It drove her mad. 

She made certain to keep his correction in mind as she began the song again, and she made it all the way through without him stopping her. When it was finished he finally turned to her and nodded brusquely. 

“Good,” he said, not quite looking at her. “Let’s stop there for today. Do you wish to go upstairs now?”

She shook her head. 

“Can I stay for dinner?” she asked in a small voice, uncertain if she was being rude to invite herself like that. 

“Of course, you are always welcome here. I have an errand to run, however, so I will be out for the next hour or so, if you do not mind-?”

“That’s fine! I’ll just sit here.”

He smiled a little. 

“I shall see you soon, Christine,” he bowed slightly and left. 

She was left to her own devices while he was gone. ‘Errand’ - she wanted to snort. She knew perfectly well he was taking that box full of frogs that he had sitting by the underground lake and putting the little creatures into the desk drawer of Andre, one of the opera house managers - the Ghost _had_ warned him that there would be consequences for cutting his salary by a thousand francs. 

She sighed theatrically after he was gone, scooping up Ayesha and carrying her around like she was her child. 

“Oh, Ayesha,” she sighed again, and began speaking in Swedish. “What am I going to do about your papa? Do you think he loves me, or am I just being silly?”

Ayesha meowed, not certain why she was being carried like this. 

“I wish I could just tell him... I wish he could just understand!” 

“ _Meow_.”

“Do you think I should just come out and say it? If only I knew how!” she chewed on her lip as she sat down, squirming cat still in her arms. “If I just say it, I won’t seem like a lady... but if I’m too vague he might not understand. You see my problem, don’t you dear?”

With much squirming, Ayesha finally escaped Christine’s hold and jumped down to the floor and began to groom her fur. 

“And none of that helps the fact that I don’t really know what to say at all... I can’t ask Meg without having to tell her, and if Erik doesn’t feel the same, I’ll never be able to live that down with Meg,” she fretted. “I’m entirely on my own here.”

Ayesha looked up from licking her paw, blinking a moment before continuing her work. Christine watched her, feeling a little melancholy. 

By the time Erik returned, she had made up her mind. 

“How did your errand go?” she asked politely as he pulled off a pair of black leather gloves that she couldn’t help but think looked a little slimy, as though they’d just touched a dozen frogs. 

A ghost of a smile drifted across his face as a faraway look came into his eyes. 

“It went well!” he chuckled a little. “Very well, I think.”

Christine spared a thought for the little animals, hoping that after Andre was sufficiently disgusted by them that they would somehow find their way back to riverbank where they lived. 

He quickly set about preparing for dinner, and talked to Christine as he did so. She listened intently, wishing he would speak a little slower at times. Her heart was pounding. She knew she’d have to bring it up eventually, but she hadn’t yet gathered enough courage. 

Once they sat down to dinner, her nerves began to calm a little. She’d never felt about anyone the way she felt about Erik, and she knew she’d need to be bold with him to get the result she wanted. It wasn’t polite, or ladylike, but it was how she felt, and there was no helping that. 

“Erik?” she said softly when they had finished eating, squeezing and wringing her napkin in her hands under the table. 

He smiled at how shy she looked, how she bashfully couldn’t meet his eye. 

“Yes, Petite?”

“I- I want,” her face turned pink. “I want to... spend the night here... to sleep... with you.”

Erik’s face went blank. It almost sounded like she wanted to- 

No, no - that couldn’t be it. She wanted to stay _in his house_ , not _sleep with him_. What an absurd thought! 

“Why, of course, Christine! I’d be delighted!” he smiled again. 

Her face lit up as she looked at him. She had been so afraid he’d send her back upstairs or otherwise rebuff her advances - but he was _delighted_! 

“Oh!” she beamed at him. “I’m so happy!”

“Let me show you to your room, Chérie,” he rose from the table and ushered her down the hall, his hand hovering near her upper back but not quite touching. 

She took in a tremulous breath. It was finally happening! He really did return her feelings! And tonight they would-

“Right in here,” he opened to a room filled with most feminine furniture - intricately carved dressers and a wardrobe and bed shaped like a charming little boat. 

“Right here,” she sighed in an echo of him as she took in the room. “It’s lovely!”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said warmly. “It was my mother’s. But it can be yours, now. A much better use of it.”

She turned in a little circle to look at all of it before turning towards him. 

“Um,” she didn’t know how to start - she’d never done anything like this before. “Do you want to-“

She didn’t know the words for any of it in French. Oh, how easily she could have seduced him had he known Swedish! 

Erik watched her there as she struggled for words, looking embarrassed and pushing a stray curl behind her ear. 

“I’ll let you get ready for bed now,” he said kindly, placing a gentle touch on her shoulder for just a moment. “You can use anything you want in the bathroom.”

He cleared his throat. 

“Sometimes I, ah, work on costumes, you see,” he tried to explain awkwardly. “As such, there are... a few articles of clothing that might fit you in the, ah, wardrobe. You may wear those too, if you wish.”

She nodded. He wasn’t certain if she fully understood, but she didn’t seem put off by the thought, at least - and he certainly couldn’t tell her he had placed all those things in his house _for her_ in the perverse hope that this exact scenario might happen.

“Well, I will leave you to it, then,” he bowed just a fraction and left the room. 

Once he was out of sight, she went in the bathroom to freshen up. To her surprise, the little room was stocked with all sorts of feminine necessities, and she felt a flash of jealousy that perhaps Erik had had other woman stay over in the past, for all of these were far too new to also have belonged to his mother. Each bottle and bar was brand new and never used, and she wasn’t certain if this was a comfort or not - was she the first to inhabit this space in his house, or was it so frequently used that he had to continually buy new products? She cocked an eyebrow at the thought. Her Erik, a complete Don Juan, seducing women left and right. 

Soon enough she was freshly washed, smelling vaguely of roses, her hair arranged just so in a manner she thought enticing. She pinched her cheeks hard and bit her lips, bringing some nice color to them. In the wardrobe she found a long nightgown of silk, which she put on over her chemise, and then saw an elaborate dressing gown, which she put on as well. Finally ready, she opened the bedroom door and then settled herself on the bed, her heart pounding. 

Any minute now, he’d walk through that door and take her in his arms and kiss her and lean her back on the bed and- 

She waited nearly half an hour before she began to wonder when he was coming. She chewed at her lip and huffed. Where was Erik? 

Unable to stand waiting any longer, she got up and went to her door, looking outside. Erik was nowhere to be seen. She stepped outside and walked down the hall, her dressing gown train trailing behind her and pooling at her feet like a wedding gown. But where was her groom? 

After finding him strangely absent from the entire house, she stopped at last in front of his bedroom door. He must be in there - but what on earth could he doing to get ready that would take this long? Should she interrupt him? 

She gathered her courage and knocked on his door. A few moments later the door opened a crack and he peered through. 

“Christine?” he asked sleepily, blinking as though he’d just been woken up. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

She sucked in a tremulous breath. He expected her to be sleeping? By herself? He was dressed in his own housecoat, hastily thrown on over his own sleepwear, his mask slightly askew. 

He was planning to sleep in his own room. 

She looked down, frowning at her hands as she fidgeted with the lace around the hems of her sleeves. Her face felt hot with shame. How could she have thought that he would want to be with her in that way? She sniffled a little. 

“We didn’t say goodnight,” she mumbled. 

“Oh, poor Petite-“ he tutted. “Goodnight, Christine. Sleep well and sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight Erik,” she barely got the words out before she turned and nearly ran back to her own room. 

She spent the night crying quietly into her pillow.


	3. Chapter 3

She supposed the one good thing to come of that night was the fact that it had opened up the option of staying in the room whenever she wished, something that Erik offered to her the next morning over breakfast. 

She nodded and thanked him, looking at the eggs he had cooked for her and wondering why on earth he would think that she, a grown woman, wanted to stay overnight in his house if not for intimate relations. 

It had not escaped her notice that everything in the wardrobe was catered towards her, both in terms of her preferred colors and styles and also in regards to her size. What kind of a man just happened to have numerous dresses and nightgowns specially tailored to a certain woman if he hadn’t been spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about her? 

‘Worked on costumes’ indeed. Just because she spoke French like a child didn’t mean she was stupid. Erik was obsessed with her, even if he was trying to pretend otherwise. She was shocked that he hadn’t made up some mannequin to look just like her! If she didn’t have her own little obsession with him, she would have been quite creeped out by that wardrobe full of dresses. 

Erik, despite the fact that less than nothing had happened between them, was elated with this turn of events. She trusted him! She really and truly trusted him. She was not terribly naïve - surely she was aware it was unorthodox and frowned upon to share a house with a unrelated man even if she wasn’t entirely certain of the reason _why_ that was so. Surely this was a sign that she thought of him like a family member! Giry had been correct - he was being a good role model for her, almost a father figure. He’d never been that to anyone before - he’d never been much of anything to anyone before - and for a while he’d doubted he would be capable of such a thing, but apparently it was going better than he realized. 

Being like a father to her was... not his first choice in how he would have hoped she viewed him. Neither was it his second choice. But if that was what she wanted from him, that was what he would provide. If she wanted a place to stay at night that wasn’t the dormitory full of girls with whom she didn’t particularly get along, he would be more than happy to provide that, too. He would do anything for her, he thought wistfully. 

Christine spent the morning trying to figure out where she had gone wrong - had she not said it correctly? Had he not realized what she’d meant? It felt like a giant puzzle to her, and she couldn’t quite get the pieces to fit. 

Erik seemingly loved her from every other clue she could see, yet he made no move to act on anything - she’d practically offered herself up on a platter to him and he had gone to bed without giving her a second thought. Either she was mistaken about his feelings, or she had failed to adequately convey her own feelings. 

It was constantly in the back of her mind for the next month. She watched him carefully, and their lives went on as they had - French lessons, singing lessons, staying in his house overnight at times. He was frustratingly always a gentleman during such stays, and it maddened her as much as it made her fall in love with him all the more. 

As time went on, it only became more confusing. The only thing she became certain about was that this was no longer a mere infatuation or crush. She couldn’t keep these feelings bottled up forever. 

Then suddenly, a plan formed in her mind, and she knew she had to act on it. 

She chose to do so when she had followed him down to his house after rehearsals on stage to spend a lazy afternoon with him, an afternoon that was going to turn into an evening which would fade into another night spent in her room there. She waited a little while until they were both settled in, then appeared at the doorway of his sitting room where he was reading a book. 

“What’s on your mind, Chérie?” he asked kindly, a small smile on his lips. “You look like you’re thinking of something very big.”

She sucked in a tremulous breath. She had to tell him somehow, and what better way than this? She twisted her fingers together, hoping she remembered all the right words in all the right order. 

“Destiny binds me to you forever. Your gentle gaze fills me with rapture, your voice ravishes my senses,” she looked away, her cheeks warm, but pressed on. “Beneath your ardent kisses, Heaven is radiant within me. I have given you my heart, it is yours, yours forever.”

Erik stared blankly at her for a long, long moment. She fidgeted with her hands as she waited for a response, growing more and more nervous that she hadn’t said it correctly. 

“Ah!” he said at last, his face lighting up with recognition. “ _Romeo et Juliette_ , of course! That was one of the productions they were considering next season - is that why you brought it up? I agree you’d make a lovely Juliette, Petite, but unfortunately they’re doing The Magic Flute instead. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” she said weakly. “Okay.”

She turned and walked awkwardly out of the room. 

Those were the most romantic words she knew how to say in French, and they’d done absolutely nothing. She felt slightly sick, heart beating too fast, her mouth too dry, her head swimming. She nearly started crying, but she had enough presence of mind to realize that if Erik heard her, things would only go downhill from there. 

She stood in the kitchen and drank a glass of cool water to soothe her nerves, ruminating on her failure. 

Perhaps- perhaps it wasn’t that Erik didn’t return her feelings, perhaps it was merely that he really had thought she was inquiring about the opera! After all, who expects their student to suddenly offer up their very heart to them? No, she’d merely caught him off guard. 

It was still a terrible blow to her ego, and she felt rather like sulking for a while. 

Erik was glad she was out of the room, giving him a chance to catch his breath. This child was going to give him a heart attack one day! His terrible mind managed to twist nearly everything she said into something lascivious! For the briefest of moments, he had allowed himself to hope upon hearing those familiar words... But of course reality swiftly came flooding in - she wanted to talk about opera, not tender feelings. 

The poor girl had no idea how difficult she made it to be around her sometimes! But surely she wasn’t to blame - it was Erik’s own wicked mind that was the problem. When would he learn that she didn’t think of him that way, that those words would never be said with the meaning that he hoped would be behind them? The best thing he could do was double down on focusing solely on her career. She’d have a wonderful future ahead of her on the stage if he didn’t get distracted. 

That was far easier said than done, however - the thought of her was a near constant distraction. 

He found his mind wandering while he played and composed, ending with him writing songs both for and about her. He found his thoughts turning to her when he went to sleep at night and when he woke up in the morning. And he found a great many things made him think of her when he was out running errands. 

The simple fact of the matter was, he wanted to buy things for her. It didn’t matter _what_ , exactly, but the compulsion was there all the same - he needed to shower that girl with presents. Was it his feverish devotion to her that caused him to want to cater to her every whim, or was it simply that she was deserving of every good thing on the face of the earth? 

It wasn’t that she ever asked for anything - far from it. She was a humble and modest girl, though on occasion she had been know to make an extravagant purchase now and then (that hat with the extra wide brim was proof of this). But she was human, like anyone else. Surely there were things she wanted that she didn’t - or couldn’t - buy. 

Erik could buy those things for her. 

But how? It felt so unsavory, buying her too many things... Or buying her anything, really. He didn’t want her to feel obligated to him, as though she owed him something in return. But still- 

It felt like a crime to not get her _anything_. 

He warred with himself over this while he was out. The urge was too strong to ignore today - he was going to buy her something, he _had_ to. The only trick was to figure out what. 

He passed by the women’s perfumes, wishing desperately he could buy her that - something lovely that would be sprayed on her bare skin, something that he could enjoy the scent of - something that _he_ had chosen for her. There was something terribly appealing about the thought of her smelling like a certain arrangement of flowers simply because he wished it so. 

He turned away from the perfume case, his face red and too warm. 

Perfume was definitely out of the question. 

He could buy her jewelry. A lovely ring perhaps - though far too reminiscent of a ring given with a vow. There was a charming little heart locket on a golden chain, just like how he felt his own heart was chained to her. 

He sighed as he pulled away from the jewelry, disappointed in himself. 

A dress, perhaps. He paused to assess them in the store, considering how they might look on her. He ran his fingers over the lace and silk and taffeta and was accosted by the image of himself physically dressing her in this gown as though she were a doll to do with as he pleased - and with the image of _un_ dressing her. 

He clenched his hands into fists and quickly left the store. But though he could leave the store, he couldn’t leave his thoughts behind so easily. 

Oh, he was a _fiend_. A veritable monster. If Madame Giry knew, she would murder him. He mustn’t think about the girl that way! It was despicable! 

The things he wanted with her could never come to be, he knew this. But he loved her - loved her enough to want to protect her from everything in the world that might harm her, even if that included himself. He could content himself with simply her company, he was certain of it. He just had to reframe how he thought of her. He would do right by her, he swore it to himself. 

He was passing by a storefront that sold children’s things, and suddenly he had an idea. 

It wasn’t very long before he was on his way home once more, and able to breathe a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been doing himself any favors by considering such womanly gifts for her - but _this_? It was perfect in every way. 

In fact, it was such a perfect gift that it _almost_ assuaged the guilt of all those _other_ gifts he had bought in the past, all of the little things he had stocked his guest room with, things he hadn’t explicitly _given_ to her and therefore could be excused from. 

Soon enough they met again for another lesson, and at the end it was time to give her the gift. 

“Christine, Chérie - you’ve done wonderful today,” he said warmly, tilting his head a little as he watched her. 

She ducked her head, smiling. 

“Thank you, Erik.”

“Since you’ve been doing so well, I have a little surprise for you, as a reward. I think you’ll like it!”

She looked up, excited. A surprise? What could it be? 

Her imagination began to run wild, concocting elaborate scenarios that might unfold - would he take her out to a dance or a fancy dinner as a reward? What if her reward was a kiss? 

If it was a kiss, this was the perfect setting - Erik’s home, in his library by the warm fire. If they started kissing, would it lead to something else? She squirmed on the chair she was sitting in, anxiously awaiting her surprise. 

He turned and retrieved something from behind him, then held the little object out to her with a big smile on his face. She stared at the so-called ‘reward’, trying to wrap her mind around the situation she found herself in. 

It was a lollipop. 

Her brows knit as she looked from it to him. This was a gift one would give a _child_. Why was he giving it to her? 

“Is this- this is for me?” she asked, disbelief in her voice. 

“It is!” he chuckled, and held it out a little more. “Don’t worry, Petite, you’ve earned it!”

She reached and took it from him, shocked and embarrassed. Was this how he thought of her? She fiddled with it a little, frowning at it. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, not sure what else to say. 

Erik was beaming as he watched her take the candy and admire it. She had looked so surprised, so wistful and unbelieving that this was for her! The poor dear probably wasn’t used to getting sweets - who was there to buy them for her? In that moment, he finally felt how he thought he should feel, how Madame Giry had wanted him to feel - proud of her hard work, and pleased to give her a treat. There was nothing wrong with that! He was sure teachers of all kinds often gave candy to their students who did well. He left candy as a thank you - and as apologies - to Madame Giry often enough, and though he had no actual experience in the matter, he was sure that parents bought their children candy as gifts, too. 

It truly was the perfect present - there was nothing out of place in this gift whatsoever. It was quite appropriate, nothing could be inferred or implied in the giving or receiving of it. He could be at peace at last, now - he had bought her a gift as she deserved, and hadn’t stooped to any unsavory thoughts or motives in doing so. 

He settled himself back in his own chair, silently congratulating himself as he picked up a book off the table next to him. 

Christine couldn’t tear her eyes away from the lollipop. It mocked her with its existence, with the fact that Erik had thought this would be something she wanted to receive from him. So _this_ was why he never seemed to pick up any of the hints she so often dropped! He truly did view her as a child, then. 

She blinked back the sting in her eyes. She wasn’t a child. Why couldn’t he see that? He didn’t have to love her, didn’t have to return her feelings - he didn’t owe her that. But why couldn’t he just see her for what she was? She thought the romantic rejection would hurt less if he could somehow acknowledge that she was grown woman who had graduated university and not a little schoolgirl who didn’t understand the world around her. 

She glanced miserably at him, but he was smiling down at his book. It only made her feel more sour, somehow. She peeled the wrapper off of the lollipop, a terrible thought growing in her mind. 

If he was going to insist on treating her as a child, she was going to insist that he see her as a woman. 

She hesitated only a moment as the brought the candy to her mouth. She’d never done anything like this with anyone, despite her age - but she’d worked at an opera since she was a teen, and the other girls all talked, and she knew _enough_ to know. 

Erik glanced up from his book, disturbed. Christine was licking and sucking on the lollipop in the most obscene manner, and he was completely dumbfounded. He stared with horror as her pink tongue darted out to taste the candy, lingering on it before taking the entire thing in her mouth. He crossed his legs, shifting uncomfortably, trying to swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat. 

He berated himself for turning something as innocent as her eating the lollipop he had given her into something vulgar and crude. She was merely enjoying the gift _he_ had chosen for her! 

He very nearly asked her to stop, but he refrained. How rude it would be to give her something and then refuse to let her have it! He considered leaving the room entirely, but that felt like admitting something was wrong in what she was doing - and she wasn’t doing anything wrong! She was completely innocent in this matter, it was only _him_ intent on sexualizing every little thing about her - he was a wretch, a disgusting wretch. 

He frowned hard at his book but could no longer focus on the words in front of him, the little noises coming from her far too distracting to him. He felt a hot flash of jealousy - where had she learned to do this? Had there been some scoundrel she’d done this with, before? Oh, he could kill that insolent boy, if so! 

Christine glanced at him, secretly enjoying how uncomfortable he looked. Good. Let him suffer a little, like how she had suffered because of him. The lollipop was actually quite good, a dark pink with a berry flavor. 

“ _Mmm!_ ” she moaned. 

He nearly died on the spot. 

Time dragged out as he stared with wide, unblinking eyes at the fire and Christine continued her actions. He felt he was scarcely breathing. He _refused_ to get up and leave, both because doing so would admit that it had gotten to him, and because if he stood up now, she would quite clearly _see_ that it had gotten to him. 

At a certain point Christine started to feel ridiculous, but she saw it through to the end. It was, luckily, a rather small lollipop, and soon enough it was finished with nothing left but the stick. She smiled brightly when she was finished, getting up and walking over to Erik. He looked up at her with dazed eyes and an expression she might almost call ‘scared’. 

“Thank you, Erik. That was a very sweet gift!” she placed a hand briefly on his shoulder then held the stick out to him, which he absentmindedly took it from her. 

With that she turned and left the room, her smile gone now that he couldn’t see her. Petty revenge behind her, she didn’t feel very much better. 

Erik stared at the stick in his hand, the image of her from just a moment ago seared into his brain - her twinkling eyes, her red-stained lips, her warm smile. He sat there a long time, not moving, holding the stick and staring at the fire again, not quite able to grasp how something he had given to her with such wholesome intentions had been turned into such a weapon against him. His wickedness ran deeper than he ever imagined. 

He felt horrifically awkward the rest of the night.


	4. Chapter 4

Neither one brought it up again, and he though he got her the occasional small gift for certain milestones in her learning, he never bought her another lollipop. 

It still made her mind reel - was that really how it was between them? Surely not, was it? There were times when he thought of her as a woman, she was certain of it - but how could she get him to see her like that all the time? She tried not to let it distract her from her life and career, but she puzzled over the thought in the times she didn’t have much else to do, like when she sought out the solitude of her dressing room. 

She loved spending time in her dressing room. When she’d first seen it, it had been dusty and run down, but she had tended to it regularly until it was quiet a pleasant place to be. Besides that, on occasion Erik visited her there, seemingly unexpected meetings. He used the tunnel behind her mirror as one of his usual entrances to the opera house - or so he had said - and sometimes he happened to appear while she was there. That might have been a frightening prospect, to have someone barge in from behind a mirror and into her dressing room, but she was always able to tell if he was there or not. 

She didn’t know how, exactly, she always knew when he was there, but she did. Perhaps there was some indescribable bond between them that her soul could sense his presence - or perhaps he just wasn’t as quiet as thought he was when he was hiding behind the mirror. 

Either way, she knew he was behind the mirror right now. She’d been sitting there in the dim room for some time, hoping for him to show up. Finally, he had arrived. 

She avoided looking directly at it, lest she give away that she knew he was there. Her new dress for the upcoming shows was hanging in the room, one that she was supposed to try on and see if the adjustments had helped it fit better. 

No time like the present, she figured. 

Erik has paused only moment when he saw that she was there, intending to make some soft noise to alert her of his presence, but then his breath hitched as he watched her begin to undo the buttons on the front of her blouse. And why wouldn’t she? She thought she was alone. Why shouldn’t she undress in her own dressing room? 

He should turn around and leave, he was certain of it. He wouldn’t - he couldn’t - stay and watch her undress. It was a gross betrayal of her trust, a disgusting thing for him to do. He would be the worst kind of man if stayed, the kind of man he hated. 

He remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from her. 

Her heart was beating fast as she took her time pushing the fabric off of her shoulders, reveling in the thought that he was watching her. _This_ would teach him well - he’d never treat her quite so innocently again. Would he burst out from behind the mirror, unable to take it any longer, and begin kissing her? Would he stay behind the glass the entire time, watching and wishing he was there beside her? She swallowed hard. Would he leave? 

She stared at herself in the vanity mirror, the reflection of the large mirror behind her. She placed a tentative hand to her throat, sliding it down to the sleeve of her chemise. She paused there a moment before sliding it down. 

Erik placed a hand against the surface of the mirror to steady himself. Was she truly to going to remove her chemise? Why? His mouth felt dry. He should let her know that he was there so she could stop, or he should leave, or _something_. 

Christine took a steadying breath, firming her resolve to do this. She drew her hand own the neckline and to the very front of the garment, and she was about to pull the chemise all the way down when suddenly the door burst open. 

“Meg!” Christine yelped, dragging her chemise back up to her neck. 

“There you are Christine-“ Meg said, then paused. “What are you doing?”

Christine’s face was scarlet and her heart felt like it would explode from nerves. Had she forgot to lock her door?

“I’m just- I was- I was trying on my new dress!” she squeaked out. 

“Oh, Christine - don’t change in here, not without a dressing screen, at least-“ she furrowed her brow at the huge mirror and lowered her voice. “You don’t know if anyone might be watching.”

Christine scrambled to redress, shooting a horrified look at the mirror. 

Erik felt a flush of shame. How dare Little Giry assume that he was the type of fiend who would ogle Sweet Christine from behind the mirror as she changed! He was a _gentleman_! 

“Some of the girls are going out to the ice cream parlor, if you hurry we can go too,” Meg told her. 

Christine finished dressing, her face still on fire, and she spared one last rueful glance at Erik’s mirror as she left. 

Erik heaved a sigh after the door closed, resting his forehead on the glass, whatever errand he had been in the midst of completely forgotten. 

Christine never tried such a scandalous action again, feeling far too shamed after nearly getting caught. 

Spring gave way to summer and as the weather began warm, Christine found she began to warm more to her new life as well. She still didn’t get along with a number of the chorus girls, but the young woman who was her dresser was quite nice, and Christine considered her a friend. She had found another unlikely friend in one of the seamstresses, a woman not much older than herself who was from Spain and could relate to Christine’s struggles in adjusting to a new land. 

She went on outings every now and then with Meg and her new friends, sightseeing or drinking tea by the river. She was becoming quite pleased with her new life now that she felt more comfortable here, and at first was looking forward to what the new season would bring - until it began to get unusually hot. Meg assured her that this weather was not the normal French summer weather, but she remained skeptical. It was oppressive and overbearing, and it made doing anything fun outside nearly unbearable. Christine always had preferred the cold. 

She found she regretted it when she had decided to walk to the little flat owned by the Girys instead of paying a cab to take her - at least the cab would have kept her out of the sun. But still she soldiered on until she arrived at their doorstep, ready to spend her day off with Meg. 

Once inside, Christine pulled her hat off and threw it across the room to land on a couch next to Meg, who was just finishing her mid-morning snack. Everything about Christine felt sweaty, even her hair. She wrinkled her nose, wondering how often it was going to be this hot in France. 

“ _Je suis chaude_ ,” she complained to Meg. 

Meg spit out her tea. 

“Christine! Don’t say that!” she squealed in Swedish. “Say _j’ai chaude_!”

“What? Why?”

“Because you just said you _feel horny_!”

“Oh! Oh, dear...” she chewed on her thumbnail, thinking hard. “That’s not right...”

The simplest change in words could vastly change the meaning, it seemed. It was something she tried to keep in mind as best she could, but it was hard to keep much of anything in her mind with this apparent heat wave they were all suffering from. It made her feel lazy and tired, and that only intensified the irritation she felt at other situations, like when her hair tangled and wouldn’t brush out, or when she couldn’t remember a certain word she needed, or when she stubbed her toe on the doorframe of her dormitory. 

She began to appreciate the time spent underground with Erik all the more now, far away from the garish, blinding light of the sun and the humidity that made her hair unmanageable. Erik’s home, so far under the opera house, might be damp and musty but at least it was cool. She tried to spend as much time there as she could, waiting for the weather to change, though down there she experienced a different kind of frustration. 

Reading was a frequent pastime of theirs, and though it still took her ages to get through a chapter, she really did feel her speed and accuracy was improving. 

Unfortunately, all of that reading helped her very little in her true problem. Erik always picked children’s stories for her to read aloud, or if not that, dusty old tomes on the history and theory of music. There was nothing in any of these books that could help her express what was in her heart. 

That evening while looking for something to read aloud, she pulled a thick novel with no apparent title off of the shelf, her eyes going wide as she opened it and saw the illustration that adorned the first page - a couple locked in a passionate embrace. 

“This one, Erik?” she asked hopefully, clutching the book to her chest. 

But he snatched the book from her, his face turning red as he placed it on the highest shelf, out of her reach. 

“No, not that one,” he said in a constricted voice, fidgeting nervously and coughing. “You’ll find that one a little too... advanced, I’m afraid.”

He pulled out “Children’s Garden of Nursery Rhymes” instead, one of the books he had bought expressly for her, and handed it to her, ignoring the sullen glare she gave the thing. 

“This one is much better for you!” he smiled. 

They spent the evening by the fire, her reading aloud to him in what she viewed as an absurd mockery of the situation - as though she were a child reading her own bedtime story while her callous caretaker listened. She frowned at the pages as she recited verse after verse about snails and larks and other nonsense, Erik nodding now and then. Finally she could take no more, and snapped the book shut, still refusing to look at him and staring instead at the book on her lap. 

“I would like to go to bed now,” she said evenly, and Erik sent her on her way. 

Once locked inside her room, she paced furiously, her fists clenched. She was not a child! Why couldn’t he see that? She grabbed a ceramic statuette off of her vanity - a little statuette of a songbird he had bought her as a gift for finally hitting a high C in her cadenza - and was about to throw it against the wall. Instead, she sat heavily on the bed, her head bowed and tears running down her cheeks as she cradled the gift to her heart. She couldn’t destroy anything that he had given her, no matter how mad she was at him. Before now, she’d never known that longing could be such a painful ache in her chest - that someone she wanted could be so close and within her reach and yet still she found the small distance so impossible to cross. 

She was silent and resigned the next morning when she accompanied him on his shopping trip. The man was a notoriously picky shopper, wanting to look at every single store before he made a purchase of any kind, no matter how frivolous the item. In her uncharitable moments, she thought him unable of purchasing a spinning top unless he was certain he had found the lowest possible price for it. 

“Economy is virtue, Christine!” he touted once again as they stepped into the sunlight and out onto the street. 

She glared at a flower pot as they passed it, though it had done nothing wrong. Erik said this every time they went shopping, as though he were warning her that the day would drag on, an explanation of why he would spend so long only to buy so little. She hadn’t understood the expression at all when he had first said it to her, but he had insistently explained what it meant and though she was still fuzzy on a few concepts, she hadn’t asked again after that, afraid he would spend another three hours talking about money and his opinions on it. She didn’t know why he was so insistent on being thrifty - he certainly blackmailed enough out of the opera house manager every month, and he definitely cared little about _virtue_ in any other regard. 

She supposed she couldn’t complain too much because she always went with him whenever he offered. 

He was currently rambling about the declining quality of architectural styles and Christine was only half listening. He stopped suddenly, turning to her. 

“Christine,” he said out of the blue. “You deserve a treat, Chérie.”

She perked up. 

“Oh?”

“Indeed. I’m so proud of you, did you know that?”

She shook her head, hope in her heart. 

“You’ve come so far with your singing, and also with your French - why, a teacher couldn’t ask for a better student,” he smiled at her. 

She smiled a little, uncertain. She wanted to be so much more than just a student to him... 

“Let’s get you something, yes?” he nodded towards the pastry shop. 

She was taken off guard when he put an arm around her shoulders, her heart skipping a beat. To be held so intimately by him! In front of everyone! His hand rested on her arm, giving it a little squeeze. She looked up at him and smiled. _This_ was what she wanted! How sweet of him! How scandalous! Her, a young woman with no chaperone other than this man who was not related to her, and he with his arm roguishly around her, not caring who might see...

Christine felt like she was in heaven as they walked to the little shop like that. But all too soon, her mood plummeted back to earth. 

“What would you like, Chérie?” he murmured to her, still under his arm. 

She pointed to a croissant with chocolate inside. It was a rare treat indeed - that he would both let her have sweets and that he would buy something in the first shop he entered. 

“One chocolatine for my niece,” he told the woman behind the counter. 

_Niece?!_

Her face fell, the mood ruined. Apparently, he too had realized how scandalous his arm around her was, and this was how he saw fit to deal with it. 

She squirmed out of his grip, pretending to look at the loaves of bread while he paid and she tried not to look too unhappy. 

“Christine, come along,” he called to her as he walked towards the door. 

She followed after him, her head hung in shame, her fists clenched. 

“Do you want this now, or later?” he asked. 

“Later,” she said, then added in a softer voice- “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now, let’s see what we can find, hmm?”

They walked on down the street, Christine beginning to slow her pace until soon they were no longer side by side. He noticed, and stopped. 

“Christine? What are you doing? Don’t dawdle.”

She crossed her arms and marched forwards, not even looking at him. 

He caught up with her, baffled. He didn’t have long to ponder it, however, before he had to remove his handkerchief from his pocket and dab at what was uncovered of his forehead. The weather was terribly warm today. The sweat behind his mask made it uncomfortable, and he mentally prepared to cut the day’s trip in half - just two stores for now, and the rest on a day when the air was not so sticky. 

They turned the corner, the cobblestone street becoming uneven and scattered with little holes and rocks. He didn’t want her to trip, so he held out a hand for her to take. 

She pretended she didn’t notice. 

“Christine,” he frowned. “What’s the matter?”

She squeezed her hands tight into her own crossed arms. 

“I am not your niece,” she said firmly. 

“Oh, that?” he waved a dismissive hand towards where they’d come from. “That wasn’t a big deal.”

“I don’t want to be your niece, Erik,” she hated the waver in her voice. 

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” he said uneasily, not sure why she was upset. “That baker probably sees dozens of people a day, no one will remember us.”

“It matters to me,” she insisted. “I’ll remember.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “You won’t be my niece.”

Some of the tension went out of her shoulders and the creases on her brow began to fade. 

“You can be my little cousin,” he chuckled, but she saw no humor in it. 

He thought at first that she didn’t get it, or hadn’t heard. 

“Christine,” he repeated, smiling. “I said you can be my-“

He had reached a hand out to place on her shoulder in a good natured gesture, but she jerked away from his touch, glaring at him. He suddenly realized she wasn’t in a joking mood. In fact, she looked like she was about to cry. 

They stopped walking. 

Her expression would be almost comical if it weren’t so full of anguish and fury - her mouth turned down further than Erik would have possible, her shoulders high and her nerves strung tightly. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, beginning to get concerned. 

“I’m- I have a problem,” she blinked hard. 

“Are you ill? In pain?” he searched her, looking for any clue. 

She nodded once. 

His expression softened, her words piercing him. She wasn’t feeling well - in pain even! - and all he had been doing was teasing the poor girl. 

She truly was in pain, but not the kind Erik was thinking. She didn’t know how to explain that he had embarrassed her in the bakery, or how to say the reason she didn’t want to pretend to be a relation of his. It was painful to harbor such love for him when he so blatantly chose to ignore it and make fun of her. 

“Christine,” he frowned, drawing a little closer to her. “Chérie, what’s the matter? Can you tell me? You’ve been acting so strangely today.”

She looked up at him, frustrated. Was he truly so oblivious to the effect he had on her? In that moment she longed for nothing more that for him to lean down and kiss her - that would certainly cure her ills. 

“Erik,” she whispered, swallowing hard. 

He leaned in a little closer, concern for her written plainly on his face, and reached a hand up to cup her cheek but hesitated before actually touching her. She placed her hand over his, holding it to her face as she stared into his eyes. 

Her voice low, quiet enough so that no one but him could hear her, she whispered, “Je suis chaude, Erik.”

A very strange look passed over his face, and he eyed her up and down before pulling his hand away. 

_A beginner’s mistake, nothing more._

He cleared his throat, looking around nervously. He grabbed her wrist and tugged her out into the street, heading towards a little cafe. 

“Let’s get you something cold to drink, then,” he said, his own mouth incredibly dry. “It is terribly hot today, but I assure you that the weather is not always this oppressive.”

The girl _had_ felt warm to the touch. The sun must be affecting her mind, he told himself. It was very easy to mix up the two terms. 

She pouted the entire time that Erik ordered for them both, refusing to speak at all as he chattered about myriad things she didn’t care about. This man was _insufferable_ and she wished she’d either find the courage to hate him and forget about him, or else slap him into his senses and make him realize what she felt for him. 

At last their order arrived, a large dish of ice cream and two cold lemonades. Erik handed her a spoon, smiling nervously. She knew he was trying to make up for everything by letting her have more sweets. She knew, also, that she should enjoy it, and that she should let him see that she was thankful and enjoying it, but her mood really was terrible. 

He was still talking nervously about this and that in between bites of ice cream - currently, he seemed to be going on about the flower bush that was right next to them where they were sitting on the patio. He seemed to be under the impression that if he kept talking, she would either feel better, or at least not have the opportunity to cry. 

A bird flew into the bush, startling her. She dropped her spoon on the ground. 

Erik stared at it a long moment, mentally calculating if he should go get her a new one (the man at the register had stared in a most unwholesome manner at his mask, he didn’t want to see him again), or if he should wait for the waiter to come and bring another one (the little table they were at was rather out of view of any of the staff, and who knew when the waiter would be back again?). 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, and was about to get up to get a new one herself. 

Erik glance up at her, realizing that she still looked as she had out on the street. What if the poor dear was about to faint from the heat? He couldn’t have her walking about and risk her falling over from lightheadedness!

“It’s all right,” he said quickly, and held his own spoon out to her. “Here, we can share.”

Her face brightened as she sank back into her chair. Share a spoon? She took it from him, and dug out a small scoop of the strawberry flavored treat, putting it in her mouth. She handed the spoon back to him and watched with rapt attention as he did the same, putting the spoon in his mouth. 

She nodded along with his conversation, hurrying to take the spoon back from him, taking the smallest amount of ice cream on it and plunging it into her mouth. Her heart fluttered as she felt that the metal of the spoon was still slightly heated from his own mouth, and she let her tongue savor the feeling of touching something that mere seconds ago had been touched by his tongue. 

They might never kiss, but they had _this_ , and nothing could take that away from her, not now. 

Her mood quickly improved, and Erik was relieved to see it. He was also pleased at how readily she accepted sharing a spoon - while it hadn’t been in the forefront of his mind at the time, he realized now how awfully intimate such a thing was. He had to scold himself each time she took a bite, that spoon disappearing between her pink lips, knowing he was staring far too much. His hands were sweaty, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice, or if she did, that she would assume it was from the weather. 

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked as they were almost finished with the ice cream. 

She nodded, a slight blush on her cheeks and a small smile on her lips. 

“Good, I’m glad,” he smiled. 

They sat there a little longer, sipping the lemonade and enjoying the breeze that had swept through. 

“Erik,” she said at last, her gaze downcast and her voice so quiet that he had to lean in just to hear her. “Do you love me?”

His heart twisted. He loved her more than she could possibly know - more than she ever would or should know. He loved her in a way he couldn’t even mention. And yet- 

Had he somehow made her think that he didn’t care about her? He couldn’t bear it. She should never have to feel that way, not because of him. 

“I care about you very much, Christine,” he said, his voice quiet and serious. “You’re very important to me.”

She took a deep breath. It was as she’d feared. He cared about her, yes, he liked her - but he wasn’t in love with her. He couldn’t even bring himself to use the word ‘love’. All of those little things - she must have misinterpreted every one. She really was a foolish child, then, to think there had ever been something more to it all. 

“But do you-“ the words stuck in her throat. 

“Do I what, Chérie?”

“What am I to you? Your cousin? Your friend? Your-?” she looked up at him, pleading. 

He looked right back at her, sadness in his gaze. He knew what he wanted to say, and he knew what he should say. 

“You’re my student, Christine,” he said simply. 

She nodded and swallowed hard. 

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Okay.”

It hurt to hear, but at least she knew, now. 

The thought that he had made her feel he didn’t care about was painful, but equally painful was the other option - that she _didn’t_ want him to care for her, not in the way he did. He had often worried that she might become put off by his apparent affections, and her asking seemed perhaps a confirmation of that - of course she wouldn’t like an older man like him lusting after her! They had skirted propriety so many times in so many ways, and she had finally gotten suspicious enough to ask. 

Being around her was like constantly walking a tightrope. On one side of the rope he risked shunning her and behaving coldly. On the other, he risked exposing his overly fond feelings for her. He was afraid he’d fallen off this time - but to which side, he wasn’t certain. 

“Shall we go shopping?” she asked meekly as they stood. 

“No,” he shook his head and placed a hand on her back just briefly. “Let’s go home.”

She smiled gratefully at him, her eyes still sad. 

They went home, and Erik gave her the little bag with the chocolatine, inquiring again about how she felt. She assured him she’d be fine, and they parted for the day. 

They had a lesson the following day, and he found her oddly reserved throughout the whole thing. She didn’t wish to stay for tea or talk afterwards, and even called him “monsieur” instead of “Erik”. It bothered him, this sudden space between them, but he said nothing about it. 

It lingered in his mind, though, the day after and then the next, so that when there was a little knock on Madame Giry’s office door during their meeting, his heart sank when he saw that it was Christine. 

Madame Giry answered the door cautiously, letting her in. Christine greeted her warmly, glancing over at Erik. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Madame,” her eyes lingered on Erik. “But I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

She couldn’t. She’d spent the last three days feeling so incredibly foolish and she didn’t know how to fix it. She knew Erik was meeting with Madame Giry, and she had to see him. 

She wasn’t certain, yet, what exactly she would say to him, but she knew she had to say _something_.

“I’d like to speak with you,” she said to him in a small voice, averting her gaze. “Alone.”

Madame Giry raised an eyebrow but left the room. 

“What did you want to speak about?” his brow creased as he locked the door behind Giry for privacy. 

She felt at a loss of what to say, how to say it. She thought that even if they could have had this conversation in her native language, that wouldn’t have made it any easier. She didn’t think she could keep working with him if all she was to him was just a student. It was simply too painful. 

“I’m going back to Sweden,” she blurted out, still not looking at him, wringing her hands anxiously and hoping that he couldn’t sense she was lying. 

“What?” 

She dared a glance at him. He looked as though everything he had believed in his entire life had just been proven to be false. His shoulders sagged, his expression sorrowful. 

“Christine... Why?” his voice bordered on begging. 

She shrugged. 

“I want to,” she lied. 

“Did something happen? Are you not happy here?”

His mind scrambled for answers, then came to halt as she slowly shook her head no. 

She wasn’t happy to pine over a man who constantly held her at a distance. 

“Is- is this about me?” he breathed. 

It was his worst nightmare come true - he’d driven her away somehow. He couldn’t come up with any other explanation - she was a promising talent, the managers had their eye on her to move up in the ranks in the future, everything seemed fine in every other regard. It had to be him. The monster. He’d done this to her, he didn’t know how, but he had, hadn’t he?

She finally looked at up him, her gaze sad, and nodded in confirmation. 

He sucked in a breath and ran his hand through his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered, absolutely crushed. “I- I’m sorry- Christine- you don’t have to do lessons with me if you don’t want to- you don’t have to leave France just to get away from me- I won’t bother you again, I’m sorry-“

She made a hurt little noise, her lips turning down into a pout. 

“You stupid man,” she said quietly and without any real malice. “This is why.”

Erik only looked confused. 

“You don’t like me,” she stated, frowning harder. 

“What? No, I like you, Christine-“

She shook her head hard. 

“ _No_ , you don’t. Not like I want you to.”

She held his gaze a long moment before looking off to side, her eyes starting to water. 

“Not like how I like you,” she added softly, her voice trembling. 

“What do you mean by that, Chérie?” his eyes searched her face, and his voice was soft and pleading. 

“I- I mean what I m-mean,” she sniffled. “I-“

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, her downturned lips trembling. Tears came unbidden from her eyes, and she put a hand over her mouth to stifle her sob. 

She was so tired of not being able to say clearly what she felt, what she wanted. She hated that puzzled look that would come across his face when she didn’t say something quite right and he was trying to figure out what she meant. But most of all she was sick of feeling like a child, as though she wasn’t a woman who could think and reason and _feel_ as any other woman could just because she couldn’t express herself the same way as the people around her. It was all too much. 

“Oh Erik,” she sobbed. 

“Christine!”

He caught her as she fell forward into his arms. 

“You’re not hearing me,” she cried as she pressed her face against his shoulder. “You never have.”

“Of course I hear you, Christine,” he murmured, holding her close and rubbing her back. “I hear you right now-“

She shook her head then reached her hands up to his face, one cupping his unmasked and the other finding its way to the back of his head as she pulled him down to her, meeting his lips with her own. She held him there a long moment before finally pulling away, her eyes searching his, hoping that she’d see understanding there at last. 

He licked his lips nervously, forgetting somehow that his hands were still clutching at her back and waist where they had automatically gone during the surprise kiss, still holding her with her body pressed closely to his. So many thoughts were flying through his mind, but none of them made their way to his tongue. 

“Christine,” he whispered urgently, his eyes darting between her own eyes and down to her lips. 

He wanted to insist that she still didn’t know what she was doing, but he was hard pressed to try to say that anyone could kiss like _that_ and not understand what it meant. 

“Do you realize-“ he started, but was cut off. 

She pulled off his mask and let it drop on the desk, running her hand up the scarred and twisted side of his face without any hesitation or revulsion, and then she kissed him a second time, deeper and harder and longer, her little hand still caressing his deformed face. 

“Oh, Chris _tine_ ,” he breathed against her skin after breaking away for air, and began kissing down the side of her neck. 

She arched her body up meet him, a moan in her throat, her nails digging in to the fabric of his fine clothing. 

“ _Erik!_ ”

Well. There was no mistaking _that_. 

His lips made their way to her mouth again and they lingered there, savoring the taste of her just as he’d wanted to do for so very long. His hands clutched at her and pulled her close, practically crushing her against his body. A single rational thought appeared through the haze in his mind - _this was wrong_. 

He tried to push that thought away for as long as he could, kissing her harder and letting his hands wander over her shoulders and her back and her tiny waist. 

At last the guilt won out and he could no longer ignore it. Madame Giry was going to _murder_ him. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when asking him to do lessons with Christine! Any minute now she’d burst in the door and take a swing at him with her cane when she saw what he was doing, and he’d meet his end underneath a rain of blows right there on the little rug. He pushed Christine back a little. 

“Don’t you-“ he searched her face for answers, confused. “Don’t you think of me like- aren’t I like your Papa to you?”

Christine stared at him, trying to figure out if he’d said what she thought he said. Her nose wrinkled and she looked at him as though he’d just uttered the most offensive thing. Why would he ask that in the middle of this?

“ _What?!_ ” she squealed. “No!” 

She leaned in to kiss him again and he didn’t quite have the willpower to stop her. 

“But Christine-“ he broke away again. “Madame Giry said-“

Christine arched an eyebrow. Why was Madame Giry in on this? 

“She said that you wanted a father figure- that that’s how you’d think of me-“

“Madame Giry doesn’t know what I want,” she pouted. “Only I know what I want...”

She stood on her tiptoes and leaned in towards him and he kissed her again, unable to be that close to her and resist doing so, only this time the desperate edge had worn off and it was tender and sweet. 

“Are you sure I don’t remind you of your father?” he breathed after a long moment. “You’re not- not looking for someone to be that for you?”

She sighed. Why must he harp on this? 

She shook her head. 

“I already had a Papa, Erik, and you’re not him,” she fiddled with the collar of his shirt, then looked up at him shyly. “I’m glad you’re not him.”

Relief - and a small amount of disbelief - flooded through him. This certainly made things easier! 

He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. 

“When did this change for you?” he murmured. “How long have you felt this way about me?”

“It didn’t change,” she said in a small voice. “I always felt this for you.”

He lifted her chin with a finger and looked into her eyes. There was a hint of sadness there. 

“Always?” he asked, incredulous. 

“Always,” she whispered. “But you didn’t listen.”

Erik took a deep breath. All of those times - all of those things he had chosen to ignore - perhaps Christine was not quite as innocent as he had assumed. 

“Oh, Christine-“ he hugged her tightly. “My poor darling! To think that all that time-!”

She breathed a sigh of relief. It was as if a huge weight had been taken off her shoulders. He kissed her again, starting out sweetly, but the hunger behind it quickly began to grow. 

Her heart fluttered. _This_ was what she had wanted from him! There was certainly no language barrier here, no mistaking of either’s intentions. She melted into his touch. If she could, she’d never stop kissing this man. 

Erik could hardly believe his luck. Christine, here, in his arms, willing and wanting. It was the culmination of all his fantasies. Nothing on earth could taste as sweet as she did. 

In the back of his mind, he was slightly surprised that Giry had been wrong about Christine. She had told him the girl would want a father figure, and he had assumed she would know best. But he supposed Christine was right - only she would know what she truly wanted. Speaking of which- what did she want, beyond this little encounter? 

“Christine,” he purred against her throat. “What do you want, Petite? What do you want me to do?”

“I want-“ she paused a moment, trying to remember the words - there was currently only room in her brain for one thing, and it certainly wasn’t French. “I want to marry you.”

The biggest smile bloomed across her face as she said it, and Erik’s mind short circuited. She leaned up to kiss him again, but he pulled back after a second. 

“Christine, wait, I have to know- Christine, stop a moment, it’s important-“ she frowned at him, but his question was important. 

He cleared his throat, trying to gather his senses. She said she wanted to marry him, but was that what she meant? Or was that merely a euphemism to her?

“When you say you want to marry me - does that mean you want to wear my ring and have a wedding and live in my house and be my wife forever, or does that mean that- that you want me to _be with you_ like a husband would with his wife?”

He searched her face and lowered his voice, a blush on his cheeks. 

“Us, together, in bed- like a husband and wife would be - is that all you want, Christine?”

He brought a hand up to caress her face, and she leaned into it before turning her head and pressing a kiss to his palm. 

“Both,” she breathed. “I want both.”

A little cloud of uncertainty settled on her as Erik said nothing. Did he not want to get married? Was that asking for too much? What if all _he_ wanted was the physical aspect? 

She laid her head against his chest, sighing. 

“I want whatever you want to give me, Erik,” she told him. 

He lifted her chin with a finger, his gaze suddenly intense. 

“I want to give you everything, Christine,” he said before passionately claiming her mouth once more. 

They were both lost in their own little world until a knock came at the door. 

“Christine?” Madame Giry asked from the other side. 

Erik’s eyes flew open, but Christine ignored her. 

The knock came again, and the doorknob rattled. 

“Christine, I think-“ Erik started, but she shook her head and continued to kiss his neck. 

“Christine? Is everything okay in there?” Giry’s voice came again, starting to grow concerned. 

“We really have to stop, Chérie-“ he patted her back, breathing heavy. 

She licked his jaw, and he tried to stifle a moan. She wasn’t going to stop, and he hated to stop her. 

He grabbed his mask off of the desk and reaffixed it to his face. He made to move towards the door -which Giry was still trying to open - but Christine wouldn’t move. He gave it a moment’s thought, then stooped a little to wrap an arm around her just underneath of her bottom. He stood up and and she squealed a little at being lifted off her feet. 

“Christine?” Giry’s voice was shocked. “Was that you?”

Christine in tow, Erik strode over and opened the door, letting in a very confused and concerned Madame Giry. 

“I regret to inform you that I’m afraid we must cut our meeting short today, Madame,” he said smoothly, still holding Christine. “Something has come up, and I must continue a private discussion with my Christine about a very important topic.”

“ _Very_ important,” Christine echoed. 

“Good day, Madame,” he turned to leave through the secret door, taking Christine with him. 

Madame Giry stared with a mix of horror and amazement at the sight before her - Erik’s shirt was half unbuttoned, his cravat pulled out, his hair mussed. Even more concerning was how he was holding Christine - the girl was slung over his shoulder as though she were a sack of potatoes that was also being groped from behind. When Erik turned to leave she caught sight of Christine’s face. 

Christine smiled sheepishly at her, giving her a little wave as Erik took her away. 

Madame Giry did not hear from either one until late the next day. 

They eventually managed to leave the house on the underground lake for the sole purpose of posting banns in the local church the very next day, and they were married there three Sundays later, which was the soonest that could be arranged. 

It came as a surprise to both Girys, but after much explanation there was little either could do but shrug and accept it. Meg was peeved at first for not being told beforehand, but she supported Christine’s decision to marry him if it was what she really wanted. Madame Giry, too, eventually came around to the idea after talking to each of them about it. 

The wedding day came, not soon enough. It was a small wedding, only a handful in attendance, but all who saw Christine - guests, priest, and even those they passed on the street - all agreed that they had never seen a bride who looked so radiant, so thrilled and in love. Anyone would have thought she was about to be married to a very handsome king - it was a surprise, then, when her groom was in fact an older gentleman who seemed quiet and reserved and seemingly had to hide some past disfigurement. 

But just as clear as Christine’s elation was Erik’s devotedness to her. Christine’s friends, who at first didn’t think much of who she was marrying, especially in regards to looks, all dabbed at their eyes with handkerchiefs at the sight of how Erik gazed at her with all the love and tenderness in the world. 

It was joyous day but a very private one, too - Christine had requested that the guests not speak of it afterwards, citing her wish for privacy in her personal life. They kept it quiet, out of respect for her.

She had chosen her friends very well, it seemed, for they kept her secrets even after a year had passed, even after she had become the prima donna of the opera house and gossip about her was in high demand. They merely shrugged and shook their heads, unable - unwilling - to comment on where Mlle Daaé went after performances, who she spent her time with, on if she was seeing someone or perhaps even married. 

The secretive star of the Paris Opera drew in crowds with her heavenly voice and magnetic stage presence. Every night, it seemed, at least one more man fell madly in love with her, and yet, as always, she remained distant and aloof. Oh, she spoke to her adoring fans, certainly - she was kind and sweet and polite, and she spoke impeccable French for someone who apparently had not come to France until she was twenty years old. But she always held a certain air about her, as though she had a secret that no one else knew, as though she were merely biding her time until she arrived at some other place that she’d much prefer to be. 

It only added to her appeal. 

“Another success!” her dresser beamed at her as she entered her dressing room after the show had finished. 

“Thank you, you’re too kind,” Christine smiled. 

“Do you wish to see anyone tonight?” she asked as she helped take off the elaborate costume. 

“No, not tonight. No visitors,” Christine shook her head, then examined her remaining costume in the mirror. “I can get the rest.”

“Are you sure?” she put the heavy outer dress on a hanger and hung it up. 

“Quite sure, thank you,” Christine told her. “Can you make certain to thank any visitors but tell them I will not be seeing anyone?”

“Of course,” she bowed a little as she left. 

Christine locked the door after her, the sound of her voice floating back to her as she politely informed the waiting vicomte that Mlle Daaé would not be seeing anyone that evening. Her lips quirked into a smile to hear the disappointment in the voice of the man as he spoke to the dresser. She looked back to the mirror, which opened a moment later. 

“You didn’t want her to help her you with the rest?” Erik murmured as his eyes traced the costume that clung to her form. 

“I wanted you to help me, instead,” she told him, and held her arms out to him. 

He approached and kissed her while undoing the hooks and buttons and pushing the offending fabric away. 

“How did I do?” she whispered. 

“Hmm. My little songbird... You were magnificent as always,” he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “I think your admirers outside would agree.”

“I don’t care what any of them think. You know I sing only for you.”

“I know,” he smiled as he held out her dressing gown for her to put on over her corset and chemise. 

She quickly tied the sash, not bothering to change into anything else - she’d be shedding these clothes soon enough, once she was home with Erik. As they walked through the mirror together, Erik held his arm out and wrapped his cape over her shoulders, wanting to protect her from the cold. She beamed up at him, her ever-thoughtful husband, and rested her head on his shoulder. 

“I love you, Erik.”

“I love you too, Petite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to everyone who read! <3 
> 
> I’m on tumblr!.... sometimes ~   
> super-mertens.tumblr.com


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